


VERSUS

by 4LiberTEA



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Accidents, Action, Action & Romance, Anxiety, Assassin!Kirkland, Assassins & Hitmen, BL, Badass, Character Death, Combat, Comedy, Corruption, Crime Fighting, Danger, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Fights, Friendship, Funny, Gangs, Hacking, Hitman!Jones, M/M, Mainly PruCan, Mentor/Protégé, Military Backstory, Missions Gone Wrong, Murder, Murder Husbands, Revenge, Sex, Sibling Love, Spies & Secret Agents, Thriller, Torture, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Violence, Weapons, battles, bta, mature - Freeform, sort of slow burn PruCan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4LiberTEA/pseuds/4LiberTEA
Summary: The B.T.A. needs help with a certain mission to be able to regain the title they once had. Matthew Williams is the perfect man and they immediately seek to recruit him on their team. The Canadian flies to the center of America in a lost town to help his newly acquainted friends and coworkers. They work together to make the world a safer place, one mission after the other.Battles will have to be fought and not only against the enemy, but also against one's own fears and emotions. Behind every gun is a human, and humans falter. And unfortunately, not every mission ends without casualties.*Action fanfic sprinkled with a few romantic developments...Mainly PruCan but also side ships (mentioned in the tags)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. The B.T.A.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Reader!
> 
> First off, thanks for clicking on this story with the intention of reading it! Hopefully, your expectations will be met.  
> Anyway, this story is fictional and I use/speak of governmental terms which, firstly, are not contemporary and secondly, are very certainly not accurate at all. For instance the whole deal with undercover associations and their legality is something I am not familiar with and even if I do some research (which I did for that matter) I won't understand every nuance to be able to write a perfectly political, governmental, and social accurate story. Also any technological terms as well as military procedures/weaponry will probably be misused too. So please forgive me if some concepts are totally off. I'm taking the liberty as a writer to omit these details due to lack of effect on the main plot of my story, so please understand 😊  
> Also, I wrote the first few chapters a few years back, so the writing is pretty bad, but it gets better I promise!  
> Thank you for your comprehension! Have fun reading and don't be shy, leave kudos and comments ! It is very appreciated!
> 
> Also, to help clear things up, here are every characters’ ages in the present time at which the story is set (therefore doesn’t count for flashbacks obviously):  
> Matthew - 26  
> Gilbert - 30  
> Francis - 35  
> Antonio - 32  
> Ludwig - 28  
> Lovino - 25  
> Feliciano - 24  
> Arthur - 33  
> Alfred - 29

Canadian winters are known to be harsh. But what about the other seasons? Every day in that country is a fight for survival. In winter, two degrees lower than the actual temperature outside, and blood would freeze in our veins. Summer is not much better. Thinking you can spend a nice afternoon in the sun after the time spent in your house all winter, you decide to go out. However, the sun has no mercy and is willing to burn you to a crisp. And as if that was not enough, the heat also deep fries your internal organs making life close to impossible. Makes you think, what even are Canadians to stand such an unbearable climate? Probably relatives of Australians.

The solution to all this is, of course, staying home everyday of your life—which many do without apocalyptic living conditions. Matthew, a young Canadian, uses this precise way of living. He asserted that after seven years of running in the snow, training in the rain and battling in the sun; he could allow himself to be locked up in his house for all eternity.

This frail looking blond huddled up in a blanket will be the center of attention of our upcoming story. However do not be fooled, this scrawny, shy Canadian is far from weak and useless. Five years in the Canadian military pays well. The poor boy does not even realize the potential he has, thankfully, others do.

*

~Somewhere in a small American town in the state of Colorado~

This town was truly the most boring you could ever find. Small shops barely even still running, a battered up gas station, a church probably standing since the Middle Ages, and little wooden houses. A single main street crossed the town, coming from a sandy wasteland, leading to a lifeless desert. A town more lost than this one, I dare you to find.

The habitation itself is not that bad. The people are sweet, all you have to do is keep your eyes lowered and never talk to anyone. The citizens you could actually chat with are the adorable elders. They could stab you in the eyes with their knitting needles but they are very sweet.

A couple young fellows live there too. In fact, an entire group. In the east side, far away from any other houses or shops, was a large farmhouse. A wooden fence delimited the territory and a few dead trees stood in the front yard. The citizens were never quite sure who lived there as many young ones went in and out the house. Though they were sure it at least belonged to a redoubted trio.

Inside the shack was quite the boring decoration. Old picture frames, wooden tables and chairs. Nothing out of the ordinary. Though that farmhouse was much more than ordinary. In the kitchen was a small closet used for storage. The space was pretty tight, barely able to fit two adults due to the shelves. But if you entered that closet, closed the door behind you, picked up a certain tin can of tomato sauce; the shelves facing you would part. A red light would scan your face, recognizing you—or not. Once those steps accomplished, you would need to walk onto a black, circular tile which would lower you slowly into a dark hole.

Under the small, boring house was a huge secret base crawling with agents. Gigantic screens covered almost every wall, rows of computers with agents sitting in front of them, chatter raising into the air. But that was two years ago. Now, the main room was pretty much empty, only a couple people remaining. The base was once extraordinary. Missions came from everywhere, everyone was more than busy. They saved lives, restored economy, they were the good guys. However, since the association was not part of the U.S. Government, they were not exactly legal.

After a particular mission, the association was "found out" and the workers were threatened. And so, almost everyone left, customers as well. Since the base had not been uncovered, the three founders stayed put. A couple loyal agents stayed as well. Since then, not a single mission was worthy of their work. They started to accept stupid jobs such as break into bank securities to detect errors, escort important foreign presidents to their destinations; nothing able to put enough adrenaline in their veins, nothing to make them feel like true, worthy heroes.

But finally, an interesting job was proposed. The six people remaining in the staff all worked very hard collecting all the data needed for the job. Three men were huddled behind a young engineer who was typing on his keyboard faster than any human could. The dark haired man was gifted with facility when it came to computers. At a very young age he was able to break into the Italian government's secret files to look up—and possibly use—the recipe of a local pizza shop which made the best pizzas ever. Instead, he found boring information about a plan to exterminate a well-known Italian terrorist. He was immediately thrown into prison under accusations of governmental treason, but quickly released as the government required his help for more tasks. Though after four years of breaching securities and correcting them, he got bored. Thankfully, Gilbert, Antonio and Francis hired him for a much more interesting job.

Gilbert, Antonio and Francis are the founders of the association. They are all elite members of military forces from their native countries. Each specialize in a domain and make a frightening team. The three best friends managed the small group until it became a big enterprise. They made a lot of money accomplishing the missions given by wealthy individuals and were able to build the base they now own. Despite the wall they hit two years before, they all stayed together, slowly rebuilding the association.

"It's him, right?" asked Antonio, pointing to the small computer screen.

"Yes. Now if you could all please get away from me," snarled Lovino, the programmer, while opening the man's file. Antonio laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be so hostile, Lovi!" The poor man was responded by a flying fist which caught him off guard, making him fall down.

Laughter boomed in the quiet room as both his friends mocked him. Gilbert, an albino with a cocky smirk always present on his face, held his hand out in aid. Antonio gladly accepted it and was heaved back on his feet. He rubbed his backside then his right cheek. Gilbert swung his arm around his neck and laughed. "Stop messing with our little genius here, he might find a way to send to to Antarctica without you even noticing it," joked Gilbert. Antonio shivered, his green eyes opening wide.

"Anything but the cold, please!"

The joyful atmosphere died down as they concentrated back to the matter at hand. A picture of Matthew Williams was displayed with personal data next to it. Lovino read aloud.

"Lieutenant Matthew Williams, twenty-six years old, born in Ottawa, Canada. Currently living in Regina, Canada, alone. Served the Canadian military during five years then was dispensed after injury. Incident was caused during training as a soldier failed to see him and threw a grenade at proximity to where he was standing. Damage caused : light burns, small concussion, mostly trauma. Many of his superiors noted that he always seemed to be absent but was simply hard to notice. He excelled in hand to hand combat, his opponents always managing to lose sight of him from time to time. Skilled in many other domains but not given enough credit. Parents deceased in a car accident during a trip to America sixteen years ago. Raised by grandparents from mother's side. Studied-"

"That's more than enough, Lovino. Thank you very much," cut off Francis softly. Lovino nodded and remained silent. "Now that's an interesting person we got there," remarked the long haired blond. The two other agreed bobbing their heads up and down. "We'll need him." All three grinned and stood up straight.

"Great work Lovino, for finding us such a perfect individual," complimented Antonio. "Do you think you could print us his exact coordinates?"

Lovino scowled and grunted, "Are you insulting me? Of course I can." The young Italian proceeded to type the instructions to the program so the group could have what they needed on paper.

"We can send West to go get him!" proposed Gilbert proudly.

Antonio piped in, "Yes! Great idea!"

Francis held his chin and slightly tilted his head. "I still fail to comprehend why you call him that idiotic nickname," mentioned the blond. Gilbert brought his hand to his chest, offended.

"It's not idiotic! I call him West because when we were young, he would constantly talk about flying to the west—to America. He admired everything that came from those western countries... And also he once fell into a pond in a town called West and was attacked by swans."

Antonio chuckled lightly as Francis nodded. "Right. Pardon me then."

Gilbert cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "West! Come here a sec!" A few seconds later approached a very tall and muscular man. His blond hair was slicked back nicely and he wore a white shirt clearly too small for his broad figure. He walked up to the four men and waited patiently for his orders.

"Ludwig! Here are the coordinates of someone we need to recruit," explained Francis handing out the documents recently printed out. The intimidating man took the warm papers and nodded.

"All the information you'll need are on those papers. I booked you a flight too. You're leaving tonight," informed Lovino turning around in his chair. Ludwig opened the file and read quickly.

"Okay. Thank you," responded the agent.

Ludwig grabbed his black blazer and a small briefcase. He placed the documents in it and closed it, immediately leaving his desk. The coffee boy noticed him leave as he brought everyone drinks. "You're leaving Ludwig?" asked the brunet, curiosity taking over. A quick nod. "Great! Here have some coffee before you leave. Good luck!" cheered the man. Ludwig grabbed the cup and scurried out.

"Make us proud! Make The Bad Touch Association proud!" exclaimed Gilbert taking a coffee from the tray. "Thanks Feli." Ludwig exited the room as all heads were turned to watch him leave. The fate of their mission laid in his hands, they absolutely needed Matthew Williams.

* * * *

I dedicate this chapter (as well as the rest of the story, sort of) to my little brother who came up with the idea! So if this story pleases you, give him a special thought of thanks!


	2. Live a Normal Life? As If.

~Skyscraper in Manchester, England~

Silence filled the entire floor. On the last floor of a twenty-eight story building was the penthouse of a rich British businessman who was running for mayor. He lived alone in a luxurious home, practically bathing in money. However, that money was not his. The smart accountant had made his fortune through many companies and was able to make money off their backs without them noticing he was stealing millions from their accounts. Needless to say, once his schemes discovered, the head of the companies were not too pleased.

An agile man swiftly made his way through the empty hall of the last floor. He was hired by one of the victimized companies' bosses to take care of Mr. Johnson, as was the culprit's name. The British assassin stuck his back onto the wall and slowly peaked from the corner. Two muscular men stood in front of a wide, golden door. "Drats," whispered Arthur Kirkland to himself. He pulled out his gun from under his vest and quickly shot twice, each bullet hitting the men in the forehead. The gunshots were silent, just as they needed to be.

The bodies dropped onto the floor, their lives seeping out from the freshly carved hole. Arthur tucked the gun back in its place and marched forward. He went to the right of the door and opened the small alarm on the wall. He cut some specific wires and connected them to his Raspberry Pi that hacked into the alarm systems. The smartly dressed assassin waited until the small screen flashed green—meaning the alarm was shut down—to unhooked his trusted device. He bent down and glanced right then left. He pulled out a Swiss pocket knife and started picking the lock with expertise. The door slowly opened on its own. With one last look, Arthur entered the dark room. It was extremely spacious, and that was only the front hall. He sneaked into the vast living room and up to the bedroom door.

In the center of the room was a king sized bed with a snoring whale under the covers. It was not actually a whale but Arthur could have easily been tricked. He grabbed his gun and held it close to his chest. He pointed the end to Mr. Johnson's head but just as he was about to pull the trigger, the overweight man swung his hand in Arthur's direction, pistol betwixt fingers. The professional killer reacted immediately and calmly. He launched his free hand gripping the man's wrist tightly. The pressure forced the accountant to let go of his weapon. Arthur mercilessly spun the man's hand backwards until he heard a faint crack. He grinned, satisfied.

Mr. Johnson cried out in pain and retrieved his broken hand. Arthur wasted no time and pulled the trigger, the bullet penetrating the skull and killing the man. The skilled assassin wiped his gloved hands with a handkerchief and rubbed it on the dead man's wrist. He walked back on his trail and left the door closed, the lifeless bodies guarding the now inhabited apartment. He took the lift down to the basement, taking his time to groom himself in the mirror. He flattened his tie, tucked in his bloodstained shirt, tugged on both ends of his blazer, readjusted the dark sunglasses on his nose, and ruffled his dark brown wig.

The lift came to a stop as a ring emitted from the small compartment. The doors slid open and Arthur walked out. He grabbed an abandoned trench coat and passed his arms through the sleeves. From the basement, there was a door leading to an underground parking. The assassin exited the building from the parking's entrance. Not a soul was wandering in the streets at such an hour, Arthur was safe. But as precautions require, he took the tube and got off at a station in a shady neighborhood. Drunkards were passed out on dirty benches, half-dead men lurked in the underground station. Instead of climbing the stairs, Arthur walked alongside the rails and turned left in a small tunnel. He dropped the coat and pursued his way. At the end of it was a ladder covered with moss and slime.

The British gentleman knocked on a specific part of the wall behind the ladder and a small iron tile shifted its position to the right, revealing a small tactile screen. With the touch of five spots on the code panel, the tile covered the screen once more. Arthur backed up as the ladder cut in half and the whole wall behind it slid to the left, opening to a dark hall. He stepped inside and the door returned to its place. If anyone was following Arthur, they would not find him now, and would cluelessly climb up the ladder. The assassin turned the lights on and entered his base. He undressed, laying his jacket on a chair, untying his necktie and dropping it on a table. He kicked off his oversized dress shoes and placed them with his collection of misfitting footwear. The brown wig was set atop a plastic head, letting his natural dark blond hair out in the open. The British assassin combed his hair with his fingers, letting the messy curls breathe a bit after being captured under a sweaty, warm wig.

Arthur sat on a black chair surrounded by a desk circling his workspace. A transparent screen rose up to the ceiling, bending around the desk which was displayed in a half circle. He tapped on his tactile keyboard and a picture of Mr. Johnson was displayed. He pressed a key which turned the screen black then the icon of a phone appeared. He rested his back on the chair and waited for the other end of the call to pick up.

"Yes? Martin Cunrad speaking."

"Good evening sir, Kirkland here."

"Ah! Mr. Kirkland! How did it go?"

"I have called to inform you the task was taken care of with no major casualties. I shall expect the second half of my payment in the following hours. Any lateness of your part and I shall intervene."

"Y-Yes. Understood. I have the coordinates to where I shall send it to."

"Splendid. Glad to have made business with you my good sir. Pleasant evening."

"I-"

Arthur ended the call and rested his forehead on the back of his hands folded together.

"Dimwit."

He leisurely paced around the small room and grabbed a suitcase. He printed out some papers and folded them, tucking them in his own classy mouse-gray overcoat. After a quick shower, Arthur changed into a simple but elegant midnight blue suit. He slid into his coat and turned his computer screen off. He shoved a black longshoremen cap on his head and slid on black leather gloves. After a moment of reflection, he slipped into his polished brown shoes effortlessly.

While picking up his prepared case and a wooden cane, the elegant man murmured to himself, "Off to America it is, then."

The room fell into pitch black darkness as the faint tapping of heels echoed.

*

~In a small apartment in Regina, Canada~

The sun shone through the window, caressing Matthew's sleeping face. The young man was bundled up in a blanket, sitting on the couch, in front of the television where he had fallen asleep the night before. The floor was covered with emptied water bottles and unwashed clothes. His front entrance was blocked by hundreds of unread letters and unpaid bills. It had been at least seven months since he had gone out. After his service in the military, the young Canadian tried to clear his mind by working in a supermarket. After a robbery in which he was involved, scenes of explosions had come back to his memory and caused him to have a panic attack. The robbers had stopped to make sure he was okay and called an ambulance since it was pretty serious.

After working there for five months, he quit, too afraid for anything like that to happen again. He locked himself in the protective walls of his small apartment. During seven months, he did not leave his customized bunker. His maid, Maggie, would visit him once a week, opening every window, changing every sheet, cleaning up the whole place. Matthew would pay her with the economies he spared during the military and the small paycheck he received as cashier. It was not the best life ever, but at least it was safe.

Matthew groggily twisted around on his couch in his sleep. He progressively slid off the sofa and landed on the floor, his head thumping on the hard ground. The contact woke him up immediately. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed the back of his skull. His head throbbed and he could still hear the knocking ringing in his ears. After a couple of seconds he realized the noise was not coming from his head, but from the front door. He groaned, grabbing the seat, trying to pull himself up.

"Come in, Maggie! The door's open."

Matthew slouched back on the couch. The knocking continued.

"Maggie! The door's open! Just come in!" repeated the blond a little louder. However, the knocking did not cease. He groaned again and trudged to the door, tripping several times on the blanket that trailed on the floor with him. He shoved the pile of letters with his foot and peaked through the peeping hole. An unfamiliar man stood at his doorstep wearing a tux. He opened the door just a little and gazed beyond it.

"Yes..?" His voice was quiet and unsure. The tall man was more than intimidating. His piercing blue eyes seemed to see through his soul, the serious scowl on his face made him look irritated, his broad shoulders created a fearful image.

"Lieutenant Matthew Williams?"

Matthew shuddered and his face decomposed itself with dread. He gripped the door tightly and rushed the words out of his mouth. "I'm not a lieutenant, sorry. Have a nice day." Without waiting for an answer, he slammed the door shut. He realized in horror that the door had not closed as a foot stood in the way.

"Lieutenant Williams-"

"I'm not going back to the army!" shouted Matthew, his head lowered, resting his forehead on the door. "There's no way I'm going back..." The man stayed silent. Matthew almost hoped he had left. But he spoke again.

"Mr. Williams. I am not here on the behalf of the Canadian military. This is for some other matter."

Matthew breathed faster. Whatever might be the reason, it surely was not good. Only bad stuff could involve a man in a black suit and knowledge of his ranking in the army. No matter what would be proposed to him, it was not going to be safe. "I don't want to do it! I don't care what it is! I just want to live a normal life, leave me alone... Please..."

The agent let the Canadian catch his breath. Matthew's heart was racing. It took all his strength to push away any unpleasant memories and refrain from collapsing. He clutched his t-shirt tightly and lightly shook. He dropped to his knees and finally let out a long, calm breath. A small card slid on the floor next to him.

"If you ever change your mind, please do call me. I'll be in town for a little longer. Please consider at least discussing the matter for a couple of minutes," voiced calmly the man from the other side of the door. Matthew dragged the card nearer. He started reading the words written on it while the tapping of heels dimmed down as the man left.

"Lieutenant Ludwig Beilschmidt, German Military Forces. B.T.A." whispered Matthew. He leaned against the door, closing it. "What does a German officer want with me? And what the hell is B.T.A. ?" questioned the Canadian. He turned the card over and a phone number was scribbled on the back. Matthew stared wide eyed at the words added with a pen.

We could seriously use skills such as your own, please think it over.

The blond picked up the card and pushed his glasses up his nose. He read and reread the note. He shook his head, his hands trembling. "What does he mean, 'skills'?" voiced Matthew out loud. 

A sudden flash of energy overtook him and he dashed to his room. He pulled on some jeans and changed his shirt. There was a part of him that resonated with words printed on the card, something was calling out to him. Although he hated it, he hated every memory of danger, and pain, and horror, yet that hidden instinct, which had pushed him to join the army in the first place, came pushing forward. It pushed its way past the fear, the pain, the regret. He at least had to know what this was about, then he could go back to his shut-out life. Matthew ran out the door, his sneakers in his hands. He ran down the flight of stairs while shoving his feet in their respective shoes and pushed the complex's front doors open. On the end of the street was a black limousine, not especially long. The man from before was about to step in as Matthew called out to him.

"Wait!"

Ludwig stopped and looked at Matthew's running figure. He arrived out of breath and stared into the lieutenant's blue eyes. Ludwig nodded and declared, "Shall we discuss over a cup of coffee?" Matthew breathed heavily and looked around. He pointed behind him then in front of him, then finally acquiesced.

"Y-Yes, please..."

Ludwig stepped to the side and motioned for Matthew to step in the car.

"Oh, this is so not safe," mumbled Matthew to himself, sliding on the back seats. Ludwig sat facing him and closed the door. The mind of the young Canadian was full of horrible scenarios. Once the engine started running he was so afraid for his life, he could not feel his knuckles anymore due to how hard he was clutching his knees. All he could think of was why in the world would he leave his warm apartment to follow a complete stranger. His home had maple syrup, this stranger surely not.


	3. Recruitment

The limousine stopped in front of a small café exuding a pleasant atmosphere with children's laughter and friendly chatter. As Matthew stepped on the street, his heart felt like it was being squeezed and twisted at each breath taken. He had not been outside for so long, his eyes could not handle the sudden intake of natural light. Ludwig lead the young Canadian to a small table on the terrace away from indiscreet neighbors. They pulled out the chairs and sat in them. Matthew stuttered his order to the waiter as Ludwig calmly placed his. Once the warm drink in his hand, Matthew relaxed his shoulders. The outside world was not so bad. The life of other living creatures was actually more relieving than stressful. His anxiety died down and he questioned just how he could have locked himself up for so long. But then he looked at Ludwig, recalled that they were about to talk about something surely related to violence. He remembered his seven years submerged in that life of constant fear, fighting to be the best, to not be shouted at, to not have to deal with moral destruction.

It all came back with a painful throb and Matthew did his best to push it all away again. He had serious things to talk about with the stranger facing him and he needed his head cleared to do so. However, he did not want to have the conversation, so he stayed quiet hoping Ludwig would forget about him just like everybody else in his life had.

Unfortunately for the young Canadian, the lieutenant was far from forgetting the reason they both had come here and went straight to the point.

"Mr. Williams, I am aware of your military course and achievements during those seven years. I work with a secret organization in the United States who would be honored to have someone as skillful as you on our team," explained the young man. Despite his stern demeanor he was still fairly young.

"That. That I don't understand. What skills are you talking about? I have none," debated Matthew staring at his latte. Ludwig placed his expresso back on its saucer.

"That is false. I have much information and proof of your talent," argued the blue eyed blond. "You excel in hand to hand combat, your aim is something not many are capable of, you are fast to find a solution to an unprepared-for problem, and your presence is barely noticeable which could come in very handy in certain missions," pursued the officer. Matthew stared, surprised at how Ludwig knew so much about him. He felt slightly violated, a little proud, a bit embarrassed and also offended.

"You think my presence being barely noticeable is a skill? I think it more of a burden, a-a, a curse! Do you know how it feels to be ignored? To be yelled at for missing trainings when you never arrived late for one? Do you know how frustrating it is to have to take multiple exams because your superiors never fully looked at you while you were performing? I don't think you do. And this 'oh so wonderful skill' has brought nothing but bad situations! I ended up injured because of it!"

Matthew breathed fast but tried to calm himself. Under no condition did he want to bring attention to himself right now. He breathed out and drank his hot beverage to help relax. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get rude."

"I know about your incident. A grenade was thrown at proximity to your position and you were slightly injured because of the impact," completed Ludwig staying as calm and collected as he was from the beginning.

Those last words were the last drops Matthew could take. "What do you mean 'at proximity' and 'slightly injured' ? That grenade was thrown head on toward me. I barely had the time to turn around, crouch down behind my rucksack and cover my head. Thankfully, my bag took in most of the shock but I had been burned on almost every part of my body. Fragments of the grenade penetrated my clothes and skin as well as debris of wood. I ended up with a third degree burn and so many stitches I still haven't finished counting them all. I thought I would never be able to see or hear again. It was a nightmare. You have no right to say that being invisible is a skill. And if that's the sort information you have about me then I think you are not fully aware of my journey and of everything I lived through. Therefore, I don't think I'm cut out to be part of whatever you want me to be."

Matthew sipped his coffee in attempt to control his anger. He felt insulted and belittled. Ludwig did not say a word more as he simply lowered his head. The Canadian caught his mind slipping into painful memories before he could help himself. He closed his eyes trying to concentrate on something else, trying to suppress the images of the brown field, of the gray sky, of the small projectile soaring through the air, right toward his position. Matthew's eyes opened in dread, reliving the moment in the span of a few seconds.

After what he judged was long enough, he continued speaking. "I am terribly sorry for my misinformation. I simply read what was inscribed in the military report. I had no further information about your achievements."

Matthew cussed under his breath knowing his superiors where incapable of following every event which happened to him. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized he had wrongly gotten angry at Ludwig while all he was doing was his job. He sighed and nervously fidgeted.

"Um... Mr. Beilschmidt, I... I'm sorry, I got angry at you for no reason. Sorry," apologized the blond Canadian. Ludwig raised his hand and shook his head.

"There is no need. I talked about a sensitive subject and claimed to know what happened whilst I was not a witness, therefore have no right to speak of your past. I am the one who apologizes."

Matthew was touched by the words Ludwig had said. Despite of his serious looks, the man was actually very understanding and nice. Matthew felt bad for his previous outburst and decided it was only fair Ludwig continued his offer.

"Mr. Beilschmidt... I... What exactly do you do? I saw written on your business card 'B.T.A.' but I've never heard of it," asked the shy blond.

Ludwig finished his expresso and spoke, "Yes, it is an American organization that not many know about. We work in secrecy from the U.S. Government so we can only allow trustworthy agents know more about us. Before I can say anymore, I will need to have your agreement to serve the B.T.A. with loyalty and in discretion. But what I can tell you is the big lines of the mission you will be assigned to. We have received the order to capture two dangerous individuals who have committed many crimes around the globe. Each have different paths and have no business together, meaning we will have to track them down separately. From what we know, they are both extremely dangerous and skilled at what they do. Our organization is recruiting agents who would be helpful in this mission. From the information our computer crew provided, we noticed you were a valuable agent to have on our team. I know it is not much to work with but we would like you consider our offer from what I could explain to you."

Matthew listened attentively and twirled his finger around a curl sticking out of his hair. The two individuals Ludwig spoke of seemed to be professional outlaws and to catch them would be much effort. In addition of the dangerous situations that would probably come up during the pursuit, Matthew was not most convinced. But he did decide to think it over. "Thank you, Lieutenant Beilschmidt, for thinking of me for such an important event. Unfortunately I can't give you a prompt reply, I must think it over," answered the blond while looking Ludwig in the eyes.

The man facing him nodded. "Yes, of course. You have my number, call me once you have decided."

Matthew acquiesced with a nod. He pulled out ten Canadian dollars and placed them on the table.

"This should cover it. I'm sorry but I'll be going. Have a nice day." He stood up and was about to leave when Ludwig pushed himself up as well. Matthew flinched afraid the man was going to try and stop him as he stood tall.

"No, I insist I pay. I am the one who invited you out after all," said the intimidating man. He took a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to Matthew. The latter could not refuse the gesture—he had a feeling that if he tried to refuse it would only result in the same way, so he acquiesced. "Would you like me to drive you back?" proposed the German lieutenant as he held his hand out.

Matthew shook his hand and declined the offer. "N-No thank you! I'd prefer to walk, actually..."

Ludwig stayed silent and the Canadian scurried off.

The blond officer watched Matthew's silhouette progressively disappear around the corner. He sat back down and pulled his cellphone out. He dialed a number and waited for the other line to pick up.

"Antonio Carriedo speaking. Hey Ludwig how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"It's good to hear from you! How is it going?"

"Lieutenant Matthew Williams' case is more complicated than we thought. We missed valuable information about his incident and the rest of his military experience. However he did say he would think about the offer."

"Really? How did we miss something? Lovino was the one gathering the info, we should have had everything... –OW! Okay, okay I'm sorry!"

"Please do not blame Lovino, he is not at fault. The military officers are the ones who wrote the report. They failed to see what really happened and wrote what they believed had occurred."

"Oh, I see. –Yes, I'm sorry Lovi!"

"My stay here will be longer, until Lieutenant Williams gives me an answer."

"Of course. Lovi will send you the coordinates of the hotel you'll be staying at. And Ludwig... Do you think he'll accept? I mean, he has been through a lot, I'm not sure I would want to go back to a life of stress and trauma if I was in his shoes..."

"I cannot know for sure, but I have some confidence that he will come to accept the offer. He was a skilled soldier, that can only mean he was dedicated to the job. The fact that he stayed no matter how he was being treated means he had a goal, had a certain passion for the danger. I am almost certain he will come around."

"Oh, right. Okay, well, we'll see I guess. I'll inform Francis and Gilbert of your call, thank you for everything Ludwig."

"It is my job after all. Goodbye Antonio."

"Bye Ludwig."

The call ended and Ludwig watched his screen light up as Lovino had sent him the address of his hotel. He tucked the phone in the pocket of his blazer and collected the change from Matthew's money. He walked out of the cafe and headed toward the limousine. The German man read through the files he had been given the day before as he sat in the back seat. He was persuaded Matthew Williams was going to be a great advantage for them. He went through the papers and noticed something which he had not before. One sentence that had gone unmentioned and was easily over-read. Ludwig read and reread the words attentively. That last piece of information could actually change the whole situation, if they could make good use of it.


	4. The Newbie

~The household over the B.T.A headquarters~

The house was, how to say it with tact... extremely deceiving. When Ludwig had told Matthew they were going to the organization's base, he had expected a huge building—like he had seen in American movies—with twenty stories at least, and surrounded by other rival companies. The little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere was far from meeting his expectations. From the moment the limousine had led them to the small town lost in the middle of America, Matthew had started to have some doubts. The scenery had progressively worried him as he commenced to think the driver was utterly lost. Once the car stopped in front of the poor looking farm, Matthew was more than confused.

Ludwig of course noticed the Canadian's uneasiness and spoke with humor laced in his deep voice, "Disappointed?"

Matthew flinched and turned to look at the tall lieutenant. He was embarrassed his facial expression was so easily read.

"I, uh, no! It's just that... Yes, a little," concluded Matthew, lowering his head in shame. "Sorry..."

Ludwig's faced relaxed almost as if he was about to chuckle, however that was impossible, someone like him could not laugh, right? At least that was the conclusion Matthew had come to.

"Do not worry, you won't be for very long," assured the German blond.

Matthew nodded, still unsure. Ludwig pushed the small fence door open and invited the new recruit in. Matthew pulled his luggage behind him and stepped forward on the unclear path leading to the front porch. The front yard did not inspire Matthew much good as he walked past the dried grass and dead trees. Arrived at the porch, Ludwig walked in front of the Canadian and hopped up the two stairs easily. He opened the insect screen then unlocked the front door. The blue eyed blond stepped aside to let Matthew get in. He locked the door once both of them were inside.

Matthew trailed behind Ludwig as he observed the house from inside. The furniture was old and wooden, and dust filled each room to the brim, making the Canadian's nose twitch. The living room was messy: old lamps turned over, a rocking chair missing an armrest, the T.V. covered with an itchy looking blanket. Now Matthew's doubts about this place being the headquarters of a secret organization were coming back again. Only then had the idea that he had been stupid enough to follow a stranger to an unknown location in another country and was probably about to be murdered came into mind. Sure he had imagined it, but he always repressed those thoughts as quickly as they came up, therefore, he never really thought about it. However, it seemed plain as day, the secluded American village, the secretive German agent with the eyes of a cold-blooded soldier; all pointed to the fact that Matthew had stepped into a case of human trafficking, or worse. All of this because he had a gut feeling, a tingling sensation at the bottom of his stomach and at the top of his throat, whispering wonderful tales of adventures and thrills. After meeting with Ludwig at the café, he had felt an urge to dive into the secretive case. Of course Matthew was curious to know more about the underground B.T.A. and whatever top secret mission they needed him for, and something in his mind pushed him to accept the offer, to give adventure one last chance. The Canadian cursed his guts for being so unbelievably stupid. He was now going to die and be chopped up into little pieces in Nowhereville Colorado. All of this because he had nothing to lose—what a ridiculous reason to do something. There is always something to lose, like, for instance, one's life.

Ludwig did not stop in the living room and continued until they reached the kitchen. The Canadian blond followed with his luggage behind him and cringed once he saw the state the kitchen was in. Empty beer bottles covered every inch of the table, pizza boxes filled the small trash can to a point where it could explode, undefinable stains spotted the tiles, which supposedly were white at a time. Flies buzzed all around the room and Matthew had to swat some away from him. The stench was even worse than the one in the living room and the young blond wondered just how he was going to be able to work in conditions like these on the off-chance he really was there to work. Ludwig, however, walked over any laying trash with no surprise or second glance and headed straight to the closet in the far end of the kitchen.

With one of Ludwig's many keys, the door opened to reveal long shelves covering each side of the wall. Flour, potatoes, sugar, canned soup and many more condiments were stored in the kitchen closet. The German man stepped inside and waited. So did Matthew. He had a thousand questions as to why Ludwig stopped in the storage closet, but he remained silent and waited near the table. The tall blond turned around and stared at Matthew. After a minute of long, awkward silence, Ludwig explained himself.

"Can you come in as well, please?"

Matthew shifted and exclaimed an "oh" of understanding as he scurried inside the narrow closet. As he did so, he wondered if that tiny food closet was going to be his new casket. He left his luggage behind and Ludwig closed the door at the same time as he pulled on a can of tomato sauce. The shelves facing them parted in half and slid to the side. Matthew gawked, his jaw slowly lowering in disbelief. A red laser scanned Ludwig's face and beeped green. It shifted and scanned Matthew's. A yellow light beeped and a small alarm went off.

"Alert. Unrecognized facial structure. Please proceed to identify or be-"

Ludwig turned the alarm off as he placed a card on a black panel then typed in a series of numbers. The light turned green and everything shut down. Matthew, while the alarm had went off, had had the time to see his life flash before his eyes. For a second, he had thought those were really going to be the last moments of his existence. He hoped they had thought of making him a member in the following days because he was not ready to go through that sort of stress again. Ludwig pushed the blond forward onto a large black tile underneath their feet, which progressively lowered itself once both were on it.

The whole construction shook terribly with booming thumps. Or at least Matthew thought. He was so nervous he trembled like a Brazilian dancer's hips. The platform gradually had walls slide up around it, enclosing the men like in an elevator. It kept descending for a while then finally came to a stop. White metallic doors slid to the side allowing Matthew to see the real B.T.A. headquarters. Ludwig stepped out and so did the shy Canadian. So it might all actually be true, he thought.

The room was huge, the ceiling extremely high, and everything brightly lit in a surreal white light. Every wall was covered with light gray tin and making up the floor were shimmering white tiles. On the far end was a huge black screen with speakers on the side. The screen extended to each side of the wall covering each inch of it. Six rows of desks with computers faced the giant display, three rows on the right and three on the left, an aisle separating them. On the left side of the base were two conference rooms surrounded by glass walls. Long black tables filled the glass rooms with office chairs scattered around them. On the right were white tables with a small area for breaks. Matthew looked behind him and saw a room set up a couple yards higher, having a view over the whole base. A grand window faced the open so the head of the association could clearly see everything happening.

Two men approached the newcomer with big smiles. Matthew watched, slightly intimidated, as they held out their hands. He took each one by one and they introduced themselves.

"Hello, Lieutenant Williams! It's good to have you with us! I'm Antonio Carriedo, one of the founders of this association," introduced the dark haired man.

His hair was brown and curly, falling right above his dark green eyes. His face was long and had a soft jawline, making him what most would consider handsome. He was tanned and clearly Latino, his Spanish accent giving it away. Matthew observed the man and concluded that he seemed to be very friendly and outgoing. His smile never left his face and he had a comforting laugh. He wore classic black trousers and a white shirt with black shoes.

The second one smiled charmingly and introduced himself as well. "Very nice to meet you Lieutenant Willams. I'm the second founder, Francis Bonnefoi."

Francis had blond locks falling down to his shoulders. Two dark blue eyes shone down on him with excitement. His chin was covered with a little stubble, yet it did not seem unclean, as a matter of fact, it made him look even more proper. He was wearing a fancy white shirt with light broidery on the rims. His pants were black and his shoes polished to the tip. He seemed to be nice and extremely tacky about his appearance. Girls probably fell for his ridiculous pickup lines right away. Matthew assumed that his personality would be calm and serious, although silly and playful at times. His and Antonio's warm welcome made him feel just slightly better, and he could imagine himself working alongside such pleasant people.

Matthew anxiously nodded and vigorously shook their hands. "T-Thank you. I am greatly flattered that you wanted me to be part of your team," uttered the Canadian once they terminated their introduction.

Antonio laughed and slapped him on the back, making Matthew jump in surprise.

"Don't worry! We are the ones who should be thanking you! After all, we did come without warning and pulled you out of your cozy life in less than two days," chuckled the tanned man. Matthew forced an uneasy smile and dropped his shoulder making Antonio's hand slide off.

"No, there was no problem..."

Francis raised his eyes to the room above and glanced back to the blond Canadian. "Sorry Gilbert couldn't come welcome you, he's been caught up with a phone call since this morning," explained the long haired man. Matthew tilted his head in confusion.

"I'm sorry but, who is Gilbert?" asked shyly the new recruit. Ludwig, who was standing behind Matthew the whole time, answered the man.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, third cofounder of the B.T.A. With Francis and Antonio they came up with the idea and built everything from scrap. All that you see here is due to the hard work of these three men."

Matthew flinched in surprise as Ludwig's intimidating voice caught him off guard. He nodded at the explanations then slightly frowned. "Beilschmidt? He's..." Matthew trailed off not sure how to complete his sentence.

"My older brother," concluded the German man.

"Talkin' about me?" boomed an obnoxious voice. Francis and Antonio turned around and grinned. "So! Where's the newbie?" asked the man, leaning on one side then the next. His friends frowned and nervously chuckled, not exactly knowing if he was joking or not.

"Gilbert... he... he's right here," motioned Antonio, turning to the side and pointing to Matthew. The bouncy man tilted his head and grinned.

"Ah! There's the newbie! Didn't see you, you are hard to notice!" joked Gilbert.

Matthew frowned, perplexed. He already did not appreciate the man. The latter had short silver hair, pale skin like the fresh snow on a late December evening, intriguing violet eyes with swirls of red reflecting in them. His build was strong but not as much as his brother. He was shorter than him too, much shorter. Hard to believe he was the older brother. However, Matthew said nothing out of politeness. The obviously albino man grinned proudly as he stared firmly at Matthew. He also wore a white shirt but with a red hoodie over it and had dark blue jeans with holes on the knees. Of course, it was not his way of dressing or his face—which was not half bad either—that displeased Matthew. It was that arrogant personality of his, which several of Matthew's captains used to have, that was unbearable. Then again, the Canadian could not judge the man yet, knowing him barely for seconds, but he felt that he would not get along with him very well.

He mentally scolded himself realizing it was more than unfair to say he was not going to like him. The blond put on a smile and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said, pushing away any negative thoughts.

Gilbert grinned and eagerly took his hand with a firm grip. Matthew stared into the man's eyes as the latter pointed to himself.

"Sure thing! Must be an extreme pleasure to meet the awesome founder of the B.T.A. huh!"

Matthew blinked and forced the smile to stay on his face as all his positive thoughts left with those words.

"Ha... Ha... Yeah."

Antonio gripped Gilbert's shoulder and grinned. "Come on Gil, stop boasting!" commented the man with a laugh.

"Yes, you weren't the only one, remember?" added Francis, crossing his arms and smirking.

Gilbert laughed and took both men by their necks and brought them close to his face.

"Don't worry guys! This was all teamwork, I won't ever forget it," promised the albino with a warm smile. The three friends chuckled and let go of each other.

Matthew watched in astonishment. He never had expected the association to be like that. He never thought everybody would be so friendly to each other. He had imagined everyone would be cold and serious about the work they were doing. But no. Instead, it was more like, one big family.

"Come on, Matthew! Let's show you around," exclaimed Antonio, stretching his arm out to the Canadian. Ludwig stepped forward next to the three men and turned to glance at the new recruit. All eyes were on him and he blushed timidly. He nodded and joined the small crowd. They practically jumped on him and led him through the base, arms around his shoulders. He smiled, feeling the warmth of their kindness irradiate from their bodies. Maybe it was not going to be that bad, maybe it was not going to be the blood bath he had imagined...


	5. Leaving Everything Behind

The small group gradually separated leaving only Matthew with Antonio. The friendly man cheerfully pointed to everything in the base and explained all about the equipment. Everyone could stop by the small cafeteria to take a drink or snack. The conference rooms were free to use if certain agents needed to discuss alone. The computer desks were at everyone's disposition but normally just for specific members of the association. On the far end of the third row was a man typing on his keyboard at an impressive speed.

"That's Lovino. He takes care of everything related to gathering information from any computer hardware. He can also hack into pretty much every system yet created," explained Antonio as they trekked over to said man. He looked up to stare shortly at both men. His gaze was cold and threatening. Matthew nervously smiled but did not try to interrupt Lovino.

"Hi. Welcome." Were his only words.

The Canadian anxiously nodded. "T-Thank you..."

From the looks of it, Lovino was a hardcore computer-loving guy. He was very dedicated to whatever program he was coding and his desk was filled with gadgets, cables and wires, all for connecting to his computer. On his tanned face were stylish glasses protecting his light green eyes from the screen projection. His visage was young with appreciable traits and his brown hair was cut pretty short. On the right side of his head was a lock of hair standing out into a curl. Matthew smiled amused as he too had an impossible strand among his blond hair. Lovino was wearing a white shirt with the first two buttons opened. He also wore black trousers. So Gilbert was the only one not exactly following the dress code, if there actually was one. Lovino did not seem to be that bad. He most certainly had a rough exterior probably due to shyness, but he seemed to be perfectly reliable and would not be the type to bite if you ever needed real help from him, hopefully.

The duo left Lovino to his work and they came across a young boy who looked exactly like the previous one Matthew had just met. Antonio laughed at the Canadian's confusion. "That's Feliciano, Lovino's younger brother. He's sort of the coffee boy here." Matthew nodded and the brunet came to greet them.

"Lieutenant Matthew Williams right? I'm so glad to be able to meet you! This is great, our team is growing again! I can't wait to see you at work, I'm sure you're really good. If you ever need anything like a nice warm cup of coffee or something else, don't hesitate to ask me, okay? This was amazing. See you soon!" exclaimed the younger brother as he skipped away to his duties.

Matthew stared in bewilderment. He was the complete opposite of his brother. He had joyful and cheery traits and talked a lot. He seemed a lot more approachable than his brother too. It was astonishing how much they could look alike though. They had the same face, same hair cut, same build. Practically twins. The only small differences were Feliciano's eyes and hair. His eyes were a warm caramel color and his hair a chestnut brown, lighter than his brother's dark brown locks. What was almost ridiculous was that he also had that one strand of hair rolling up into a curl on the side of his head.

Matthew smiled softly. "He seems really nice. And reliable too," voiced the Canadian to Antonio. "Well, he seems easier to talk to than his brother..." The tanned man chuckled and laid his hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"Yes, that's true. But between you and me, I trust Lovino far more than Feli. He's a sweet kid, there's no going around it! It's just that Lovino is actually very reliable. If you ever need something, go to him. Of course he'll cuss and threaten you under his breath but he will immediately come to your aid. Trust me."

Matthew listened carefully and almost felt bad. He should know better than anyone, a person is not the way they act out to be. Antonio pushed away the subject and pursued the tour.

"So! I'll show you the training rooms then the sleeping quarters. You see on the right, there are multiple doors. Each are labeled so you shouldn't lose your way. But just in case, first one's dorms, second cafeteria and third training rooms," announced Antonio while motioning to each one of them with his free hand.

Indeed every door had a sign indicating what was on the other side. They strolled over to the last one and pushed it open revealing a long and wide hallway. All along the right side were many new doors. Antonio opened each one and explained what each room was used for. There were two large bodybuilding rooms, one room was covered with mats for hand to hand combat basically like a dojo, and on the far end was one huge poly-sportive gym. The court was one level lower but you could watch on seats from above. On the ground were many painted lines limiting different fields. Two basketball hoops were raised in the air with ropes and acrobatic rings which you could lower with a control panel. On the sides of the court were halls leading to the locker rooms.

"Sometimes the team likes to play a couple games, you know, to keep the competition going. And to just get our mind off things. We usually play soccer or basketball, but the gym is equipped for anything from gymnastics to ground hockey," added the brunet while resting against the railway separating the level they were on from the ground a few meters under.

Matthew's eyes lit up at the mention of his favorite sport. Matthew was quite the Canadian stereotype. They walked down a new corridor and pursued the visit.

"There's an indoor swimming pool but you have to go to the lockers downstairs and instead of going towards the court you go the other way."

Matthew listened attentively and nodded. They reached the end of the hallway. A sign marked "gym and locker room" was pointing to the direction they came from and another marked "sleeping quarters" was pointing to a door on the left.

"You can connect to the training rooms from the dorms here instead of having to walk all around."

The Canadian followed Antonio through the door. Once more, the corridor was lined with doors on each side. Slots dedicated to the agents' names were on each door, differencing each room from the other.

"Normally one of the boys brought your luggage down. If it's not there, you can call for me."

Antonio led the blond further down the hall until they arrived at a door with a vacant slot on it. The tanned man handed Matthew the key to his room and apologized as he jogged up the corridor, answering a call in haste. Matthew watched as the man turned the corner and left him alone in the large, unsettling hallway. Taking a deep breath, he inserted the key in the lock, twisting it both sides until he was able to turn the handle.

He was relieved to discover he had his own private room and did not in fact have to share it with anyone. The room was surprisingly large—for some reason he had expected it to be a minuscule bunker, all practicality, no comfort. But instead, his new living quarters were beautiful. The room was spacious, resembling a hotel suite. There was a corner with a couch and coffee table, nicely decorated with a reading lamp hovering over the seat. On the other side of that wall were shelves and drawers lined against the white wallpaper. Large picture frames with paintings of natural landscapes were hanging all over, most likely to imitate a window view since the headquarters was many meters under the surface. Opposite to that side of the room were two sliding wooden dividers, separating the actual bedroom from the rest of the space. Matthew walked over and pushed one to the side to reveal a queen-sized bed placed in the center, two nightstands set near the headboard with lamps fastened to the wall. On the left was an open closet built into the room. His suitcase and bag were deposited right in front of it. The right side of the room had a door which presumably led to the bathroom. The Canadian opened that door as well. Inside was a white tiled bathroom with a large granite sink, a small bathtub with a shower, and of course, a toilet. There were even towels hanging on a rack, a wicker laundry basket under the sink as well as a small plastic trash bin. All in all, his new room was very nicely lit, decorated modestly, and definitely pleased Matthew a lot considering what he had expected after entering the rickety shack.

With a heavy sigh, Matthew dropped his body onto the fluffy sheets of his new bed. They had no discernible scent, which unknowingly disappointed him. He was beginning to feel the exhaustion from his trip, from the sudden change, and from the bucket-load of new information he had to take in in so little time. He had kind of hoped the sheets would smell like home, like something he knew already, something he could rely on during these changing times. Without noticing, the blond began dozing off, his conscience fixating on every new person he met that day until they merged into one single feeling of excitement mixed with anxiety.

*

After a while, the blond stirred on the comfortable mattress. His feet were itching from being clasped in sneakers for such a long time. He reached down to untie his shoelace and kicked the shoe off, relieving his itch with a few scratches. Yawning and stretching his arms out, Matthew heaved himself upright. He pulled his second shoe off, setting it against the wall. He crouched down near his suitcase, laying it on its side to unzip it. After rummaging through its contents, he finally pulled out his toiletries and a new pair of underwear. His mind was still fuzzy from his impromptu nap and his stomach was screeching curses due to hunger, all making the Canadian extremely tired. Nevertheless, he hauled himself into the cold bathroom and under the shower head. The lukewarm water was perfect to settle into the shower, but in order to wake up, Matthew needed something more drastic. Icy water shot out of the nozzle, refreshing every cell in Matthew's body, eventually clearing his mind from any fogginess.

Once he was dry and in his boxers, he searched for his phone. It was still in his jeans' back pocket, laying on the bathroom floor. The blond took it out before throwing his dirty clothes into the laundry basket. He unlocked the screen to see what time it was.

"One a.m.? Fuck," he muttered while rubbing his stomach. He assumed everyone would be asleep, so no one could tell him where the kitchen was. He did not even know if there was a kitchen other than the one in the old house, and he was too afraid to go up the loud elevator alone.

With a defeated sigh, Matthew trudged over to the living room. The lights were still on since he had not turned them off before falling asleep. A small pang of guilt rang through his mind as he thought about the electricity bill and the Earth's well-being.

His eyes suddenly fell upon a food tray set on the coffee table. A plate was in the center with a portion of rice mixed with stir-fried vegetables and a grilled chicken breast. There was also a bowl of fruits with a piece of chocolate on the side. A folded piece of paper was taped to the plastic bottle likewise set on the tray. Matthew reached for that first.

It read: "It's a shame you couldn't meet us for dinner but enjoy it nonetheless! Get some rest and see you tomorrow at 8 a.m." The handwriting was in a carefree cursive and the note was signed "The B.T.A."

Matthew opened the water bottle and drank half in less than a minute. He set it back down with a loud sigh, feeling better already. The meal prepared for him was understandably cold, but he did not care in the slightest. Even cold, the chicken and rice tasted delicious, it was like eating a salad, which was totally fine by him. The dessert was heaven to consume, sealing the meal delectably.

Since he was eating hunched over the coffee table, his back began to feel sore. Matthew stood up to take a few steps around the room. He noticed a clock hanging over one of the shelves. It informed him that it was now half past one. Due to his long nap, the Canadian was feeling restless, which meant he was not going to fall asleep any time soon. Instead, he unpacked his belongings, neatly arranging them in his new closet.

Ludwig had warned him that their mission might take a few months, so Matthew had decided to completely leave behind his old life. He filled his suitcase and bag with the most essential things to him, leaving all furniture or other household items in the small apartment. The landlord was not thrilled upon hearing the news on such short notice, but the quaint and affordable apartment was a catch, therefore it would not be empty for long anyway. Matthew also left a message to Maggie telling her he was leaving. After cleaning the studio and reclaiming his security deposit, Matthew was ready to follow Ludwig on a spur-of-the-moment life-changing trip.

Going through the few belongings he brought with him only made him more anxious. Thoughts of his decision being a huge mistake slithered their way back into the blond's mind. All he had now were a few shirts and pants, some family pictures, a couple trinkets, and three of his favorite books. He had just that, and the infinite possible outcomes of the future, all of which could be just as much amazing as they could be terrible. That unknown and instability scared him a bit. Then, like a faint candlelight at the end of a long, dark hallway, a quiet voice intruded his spiraling thoughts. It became louder, more confident. Matthew acknowledged what it was proclaiming, after all, lying to himself would not do him any good. Deep down, he knew that leaving his old life behind was the best thing for him because nothing could be much worse than stewing alone in self-hatred for days on end. Even if all this was a scam, or even if it was all true but he'd die on the mission—even if the worst possible scenario occurred—it would still be less painful than what Matthew was used to inflicting upon himself.

*

The hours of the night tediously ticked away as Matthew paced in his room. He could not fall back asleep no matter what he tried. First, he thought arranging his apartment would tire him, except it did just the opposite. Then, he decided to watch the TV on the wall facing his bed in the hopes that it would help him dose off, but after an hour, he was just as awake as before. It was already three a.m. which stressed the Canadian out since he knew he needed to be up in just five hours and he did not want to be tired on his first day of being a secret agent. The panicking only made Matthew more awake, which in turn made him more anxious, which led to the blond picking up his keys and leaving the room.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, ceiling lights flickered on, one by one. Matthew walked in the direction him and Antonio had come from earlier that day, therefore heading toward the training center. The entire building seemed empty, with only the electric buzzing of overhead wires breaking the complete silence. The white, blueish light drowning the corridor made Matthew uneasy. Each step he took resonated on the ceramic tiles, echoing deep into his veins. The seemingly endless rows of doors along the walls circled around him, inching closer to him with every movement. Dancing in front of his eyes were dots of red and green lights, playing with his mind as they blurred it completely. Matthew felt a graze along his nape. He jumped up in surprise, turning around to see who it was. Suddenly, his view became clear again, and he could see that he was definitely alone in the hallway. The graze he felt was a blast of air running through his sweat, causing his hairs to stand up. He let go of a deep breath he had been holding in all along. His claustrophobic meltdown was just due to fatigue and stress. Turning back to continue his way, he noticed he had already made it to the end of the hall. Over the door were two signs, one written "exit" in green and the other depicting a person running from a fire in red.

Matthew stepped into another hallway, following the arrows marked with his desired destination. It was darker than the one before and only had a few lights clearing the path. The restless man wondered if he was even allowed to walk alone in the headquarters, maybe there were some things he was not supposed to see, and sneaking around might cost him his life. The ominous tranquility of the whole place only fed into that idea of restricted secrecy.

As he reached the lit opening over the gym court, Matthew heard some tapping noises. His heart twisted in his chest and the blond pressed himself against the wall. He cursed himself for being so scared, especially since it was not like anyone would notice him strolling through the halls anyway. Once his breath resumed its normal rhythm, the Canadian peeled himself off the cold wall, inching ever so slowly toward the corner. He peaked his head out and saw the court was lit with just one huge light. The tapping continued in addition to some squeaking most likely coming from sneakers. Matthew advanced near the bleachers surrounding the pit with caution. He remained in the dark as he observed the activity on the court.

It was the annoying albino man he had met earlier: Gilbert. He was wearing a gray tank, drenched in sweat with a pair of crimson shorts. In his hand was a basketball which he was dribbling casually—that was the source of the tapping. The German agent was focused on the hoop which he eyed with determination. Taking a few long strides, Gilbert bounced in the air to perform a layup, successfully carrying the ball into the hoop. He grabbed the basketball again and jogged back to the center of the court. Matthew was afraid he would be noticed as the man was facing him, but it was unlikely he would look up or even see him through the shadows.

The Canadian had come to the gym to discover more about it, hoping it would put his mind at ease and help him relax, but he was beat to it. Surprisingly, it did not bother him that much. He was almost relieved he would not have to lose himself in the thousands of closed doors. Instead, he could take a deep breath while watching someone play basketball. Gilbert was quite good too, which made the solo practice entertaining. Matthew quietly scuffled his way to a seat on the bleachers to get a comfortable view as he watched the man dribble.

Gilbert's appearance as he played was nothing like his appearance from before. He was serious, steady, and much more mature-looking. It shocked Matthew to witness such duality in a person. The blond folded his arms over the back of the seat in front of him so he could rest his chin comfortably. The person jogging on the court was a person he could get along with, the one he met the day before was not. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, letting his other senses take over. Gilbert's shoes squeaked now and then as he pivoted on his toes, the basketball kept bouncing off the ground or the hoop. Sometimes the man would grunt or sigh loudly after a missed shot. The discernable sound of the net slapping the rubber ball as it passed through the hoop rang in Matthew's ears with each point Gilbert scored. The blond could smell the faint odor of sweat rising from the pit as it mixed in with the stale smell of the rest of the gym. A cool air drifted around the room, caressing Matthew's bare arms. A chill trickled up his spine to his nose, tickling it mercilessly.

Matthew shot up to clasp his hands over his nose, but despite his attempt to cover his face, a muffled sneeze was added to the rhythmic bouncing of the basketball. The Canadian's blood drained from his body as Gilbert grasped the ball in both his hands. It was bad enough that he was wandering around the headquarters unsupervised and without authorization, but being caught staring at one of the agents as he played basketball was much worse—and way too embarrassing to say the least. Matthew ducked behind the seats and remained still, praying the German would not see him.

"Hello?" voiced Gilbert with uncertainty. The court fell unpleasantly silent. "Is anyone there? Francis, Antonio, is that you?"

He waited for a while but heard nothing more. With a sigh, he walked off the court.

Matthew could hear the footsteps pull away. Then there was a loud clap and the court was plunged in total darkness. The blond took a long breath in then exhaled slowly as he rose from his crouching position. He decided he should also head back to his room, whether he would sleep or not, Matthew was determined not to scare the life out of himself anymore that night, even if it meant mindlessly staring at the ceiling until his alarm clock rang. He crept out of the training center with a pounding heart, his senses on high alert for any other surprises. He hurried as best as he could to the hallway leading to his room. As he walked down the long corridor again, he suddenly realized he did not even know which room was his. With a muffled groan, the Canadian scanned each door trying to recall which was his so he could lay on his bed once and for all.


	6. Settling In

The repetitive rings of Matthew's alarm roused the blond from his short sleep. His arm flailed around the edge of the bed in complete blindness until it found the nightstand. Each finger crawled on the surface in search for the vibrating device. He finally reached his phone and turned the alarm off. It was precisely half past seven, barely four hours after he managed to fall asleep. Matthew took a deep breath before hoisting himself into a sitting position. He reached for the light on his left, switching it on to a dim glow. His eyes stung in the way they do after a short night's rest, but his mind was already fully awake, pulling his body along with it. The Canadian lifted the covers to get out of bed then set his large, round glasses on his nose. With a stretched yawn, he scuffled to his closet in search of clothes to wear. He picked a buttoned-up shirt with a clean pair of jeans—unfortunately he did not have any dress pants like the rest of the B.T.A. seemed to have. 

After a quick shower, Matthew was dressed and feeling proud of himself for not spiraling into a state of uncontrollable anxiety. Even though he was stepping into something entirely foreign, he did not feel as agitated as he would have expected. Something inside of him kept him calm, making the whole situation easier to grasp. In fact, the shy man was looking forward to his first official day as a new recruit for the B.T.A. 

Matthew opened the bathroom door and entered the stuffy climate of the bedroom. Since there were no windows, a ventilation system was put in place to fill the room with oxygen as well as keep it all flowing. A control panel was installed in the wall next to the bathroom door so that the currents or coolness could be regulated to ones taste. During his restless night exploration, Matthew had noticed the device. He pressed a button which he thought turned the ventilation on, and a low rattling arose from behind the walls. Fresh air seeped in from a thin crack along the ceiling and wall separation. The room instantly was more chilly but more pleasant to walk around in. 

Once his bed made, Matthew went to clean up his meal from the night before. While placing everything back on the tray, he wondered where he was supposed to meet the rest of the team at 8 a.m. because the note had not specified it. Already, a small knot of concern twisted in his stomach. He feared he was going to mess things up on his first day and they would have to erase his memory like in Men in Black and he would end up stranded in the American desert alone, with no idea how he got there in the first place. 

A lively knock startled the blond from his distress. He took a deep breath and walked over to the door with the tray still in his hands. He opened the door and the sweet coffee boy was smiling in the hallway.

"Good morning Lieutenant Williams! I see you found the meal we left for you, how did you like it?" beamed the young brunet. 

Matthew looked at the empty plate in his hands then at Feliciano. "Oh, um, good morning. Yes, I loved it. Thank you so much for leaving that for me, I was famished."

"We thought you might be after sleeping for so long. But it's good that you were able to rest, you're going to need it, you've got a busy day in front of you, I can tell you that!"

"Oh really?" 

"Yes, I know Ludwig, Antonio and Gilbert were all very busy planning your training."

The tight knot in Matthew's stomach grew larger and heavier.

"But I'll let them tell you all about it," dismissed Feliciano. "Come, Lieutenant Williams, I'll bring you to the cafeteria so we can all enjoy some breakfast. Francis is cooking and he is the best at making breakfast."

"Um, you can call me Mathew, Matthew is fine. And thanks, I'll just follow you then."

Matthew locked his door and walked with the young man down the hall. The latter explained which room belonged to who, so that Matthew could go to them if he ever needed help with anything. He explained that the team usually ate meals together unless some people were on a mission, but even so, it was never taken personally if a member ate separately from the group. Some adjustments could be made to the room he was staying in so that it would fit his tastes, and he could also buy anything he wanted in the town above. Feliciano said the living conditions were just like any normal job, you punch in eight to nine hours of work a day, then use your free time however you please. The upside was not having to worry about mortgage, rent or bills—Lovino and Ludwig took care of that. Matthew asked about taxes and insurance, to which Feliciano replied that as far as the government was concerned, none of them existed anymore. The headquarters was striving off of payments from international clients who respected their discretion. Payment tracks were always carefully covered with the expertise of Lovino, and other transactions were performed with trustworthy services. It was true that the B.T.A. was an illegal organization and to keep their status of secrecy they had to operate on the dark side of state laws, but they believed they were doing the world some good by helping rid it of the worst criminals living in it. Besides, although they did not pay taxes to the government, they always funded hospitals and cultural institutions around the United States as compensation.

"But enough of that boring talk, the cafeteria's right here," said Feliciano as they walked up to the third door lined at the end of the general working space. Matthew was actually disappointed their conversation had to end, he had really enjoyed listening about the B.T.A. and how it functioned. His new life was so confusing and he had stepped into it so blindly, therefore having any type of information about it helped ease his nerves.

The cafeteria was a huge room with many tables lined in rows. On the far end was a large professional kitchen with a long counter separating it from the eating area. Francis was behind the counter near a stove, cooking something on a frying pan. The rest of the group were sitting at a table not far from the kitchen, some chatting quietly as they drank their morning coffee. 

"Hey everyone, Matthew is awake," called Feliciano as him and Matthew approached the table. 

"Hey, good morning!" smiled Antonio, welcoming them with open arms. 

"Glad you could make it in time for breakfast," said Francis. 

Matthew set the tray he was holding on the counter like Feliciano told him, then sat in a chair next to Ludwig and across from Antonio. Lovino, who was next to the Spaniard, nodded his head as a greeting before diving back into his warm cup of coffee. Gilbert was sitting at the far end of the table by Lovino's side. He kept his eyes on the Canadian as the latter politely greeted everyone before sitting down. 

"Would you like a cup of coffee? Or tea?" asked Feliciano while walking up to the counter. There was an espresso machine as well as a water boiler set in a corner. 

"I– I can get it myself," said Matthew, getting up again.

"No no, don't worry. It's your first day, I'm glad to help until you get used to the new surroundings. So, what is it gonna be?"

The blond was flattered, and a bit embarrassed by all the kindness he was receiving. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I, uh, coffee, would be nice, thank you."

Feliciano let the beverage brew in the machine then brought it back to the table, setting it in front of the new recruit before he himself sat down on Ludwig's other side. Matthew whispered a thank you before blowing on the steaming cup. At that moment, Francis exited the kitchen with three plates balancing on his arms, just like waiters do in high-end restaurants. He slid each plate in front of a person. On them were steaming French omelettes, a delicious salty and fresh smell wafting into everyone's noses. 

"Here you go," said the long-haired blond as he placed Matthew's breakfast in front of him. The omelette was huge, covering most of the plate, not like everyone else's whose were perfectly normal-sized. Francis sensed the Canadian's confusion. "You're going to need the strength, trust me. Don't forget to eat some fruits too."

"Thank you, but what am I going to do today exactly?"

Francis finally sat down with his own plate next to Matthew. "They're going to make you run outside in the desert for five hours," replied the blond as he untied his hair from the low ponytail it was in before. 

Matthew's life drained out of his body in a cold sweat. 

"Don't listen to him," cried Antonio, waving Francis away. "We're going to go easy on you on your first days. You won't risk dying in the desert. You are going to run though. Bread?"

The tanned man held out a basket with slices of bread that was being passed around the table. Matthew accepted with a sigh of relief. He cut his omelette with his knife and fork, letting the steam rise from the warm air pocket. 

"Yeah, we're going to clear up administration work in the morning then we're going to work out until you get back into military shape. Can you still do forty pushups in one minute?" asked Ludwig. 

"Oh, no, no, not at all," Matthew chuckled nervously. "I don't even think I can do more than one right now, sorry."

"Just like Lovino then," said Feliciano. This comment elicited laughs from the whole group. Even the quiet brunet smiled at his own expense.

"Laugh all you want but I don't actually need upper body strength when I have idiots like you to do the heavy lifting. Besides Feli, you're one to talk."

"Hey, I'm sure I can do more than you."

"Yeah right, with those tiny arms?"

The brothers continued their quarrel as everyone observed with amusement, savoring the delicious breakfast Francis had prepared. It was undeniable, the man was very good at making breakfast. While they were eating Matthew noticed Gilbert was still staring at him, despite not having said a word to him all morning. This made the Canadian very uncomfortable since he hated being stared at for too long, and even less so while eating. A rush of anxiety ran up his spine to his brain as he remembered the incident which happened a few hours prior. He cursed himself for being so stupidly embarrassing to his own self. Maybe he knew all along that Matthew had spied on him while he was playing basketball, that would definitely get him into trouble—spying on your boss late at night has to have some kind of secret agent sanction.

"You okay Williams?" inquired Lovino, peering at the blond from behind his glasses. "You've barely touched your omelette. Did Frogface add something in yours?"

"Hey, I would never," retorted Francis in an offended tone.

Everyone at the table turned to look at Matthew. Indeed, his plate was still almost as full as it was when Francis has set it down for him. The Canadian's face burned up and he so badly wanted to run away from the embarrassing attention he was getting.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm just– I just have a lot, um, I just have a lot of things on my mind. I guess, um. Sorry. It's delicious though, I promise," Matthew managed to say while awkwardly cutting a piece of the egg. 

Francis smiled and patted Matthew on the back in understanding. "No worries, eat what you can."

Matthew gave him a grateful smile before sinking his head back between his shoulders. He was about to eat when the other brother piped up.

"I love the way he says 'sorry,' it really catches you off guard, huh?"

"Feli," said Ludwig in a reprimanding tone—a resonance which fit his deep voice perfectly. "Don't be rude. We all have accents and pointing them out isn't helpful."

"I'm not trying to be rude," replied the brunet. "I know we all have accents, but that's the thing. Matthew doesn't have an accent except when he says sorry, and I thought that was nice."

"It's okay, really," said Matthew to Ludwig. "I get it a lot from foreigners. Most of them don't realize we're not American unless we say sorry, or about."

"There, he did it again," exclaimed Feliciano in excitement. 

Matthew blushed and smiled. He felt comfortable around the perky brunet, despite what Antonio said the day before. Feliciano was a sweet guy that the Canadian was eager to befriend. 

They all finished breakfast and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Matthew was told to follow Lovino for the administration part of the day, so he grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl on the counter and did as told. The two men made their way to the brunet's desk where they had first met the day before. Lovino turned on his computer then pulled out a chair for Matthew to sit on.

"We're gonna get you into the system and officially register you as a member. You'll get all the basic stuff like keys, access passes, maps and all that in the following days so just hang in there. We're also gonna go over some things about yourself so that we accommodate to your needs as best as possible," explained Lovino as the huge device under his desk rumbled to life. 

His screen lit up, revealing a picture of him and his brother eating pasta as children in an old countryside backyard. After typing in the longest password Matthew had ever seen, Lovino pulled up a black tab with hundreds of lines of code on it. He typed in a few things then grabbed a thin, oblong lamp from behind the clutter of devices on his desk. 

"There's going to be a bright white light but try not to blink. Just keep a straight face."

Matthew nodded and prepared himself. The device turned on, flashing a round halo over his face. He was blinded by it even once it was turned off. They repeated the action once more but without his glasses on. Once that was completed, an image of Matthew's face appeared on the screen. Lovino typed his name in the file, then it disappeared with a ring.

"Now you'll be able to enter the supply closet without triggering any alarms."

"Oh thank God," sighed the blond, resting his hand on his chest. Listening to the supply closet voice scream at him for being an intruder was not something he enjoyed and was definitely not something he ever wanted to experience again.

"Okay so now I'm just going to ask you questions about things I wasn't able to find in the Canadian social database, so take your time to reply honestly. First off, allergies?"

"None."

"Ever killed anyone before?"

Matthew stared in disquietude; he was not certain whether the question was a joke or not. The brunet turned around to look at him, clearly waiting for a reply. Matthew finally stammered, "Uh, no, no. I have not. Killed, um, anyone."

"Would killing a human being be a problem for you?"

The Canadian took a deep breath and gripped at his jeans. "Um, I don't know. I mean, I could probably do it, if I were attacked and in immediate danger. But, uh, I guess I'd rather not?"

"Alright. Do you have a favorite dish?"

"Yes, it's, well it's Canadian bannock with maple syrup."

"And is there anything you'll need regularly? Anything we need to buy at specific times or so?"

"Actually yes, uh, contacts. I need contact lenses, to um, for the training, and workout and stuff."

Both men pursued as such for ten more minutes until Lovino had all the information he needed. The brunet then briefly explained the usual mission procedures of the B.T.A. and how the whole organization normally functioned. Everyone currently working for the association was very close to one another so there was no definite hierarchy between them; for the most part, everyone had a say in every big decision, and tasks were assigned by the founders although could be discussed if necessary. The salary was not exceptional, especially not in the times they were currently going through, but it was enough to cover daily expenses in the overhead town as well as gradually put some money on the side. Living expenses were covered by the organization, which was why the individual pay was not impressive. Quitting was also not a problem, but before leaving the B.T.A. members have to go through a rehabilitation program to pursue a normal life in addition to swearing to secrecy. Since the members were always very tightly knit, there was very little risk of them betraying the family, but you can never know. 

Lovino had been talking for twenty minutes while Matthew listened eagerly. As he learned more about his new job, he saw how much the brunet loved working there. Despite seeming closed-off and shy, he was actually very passionate about the things for which he cared. The Canadian could now see why Antonio advised he give Lovino a second chance—the man was just as sweet as his brother, but simply hid it with sarcasm and dryness.

"You really like it here, huh?" asked Matthew after a while. 

Lovino took a look around his desk, glancing at the empty chairs next to him with a hint of nostalgia. He seemed to be watching something Matthew could not perceive. The brunet leaned closer to the new recruit. "You can't tell anyone, especially not the founders, but yeah. This is my home. They saved me from a boring and probably delinquent existence, and I have been here ever since I was twenty-one. Life is good here, but there are sacrifices to be made if you want to be part of this."

The blond nodded. As much as the B.T.A. seemed heavenly and easy, they were handling very delicate and dangerous matters. Not everyone can stomach the type of unstable and transient lifestyle illegal secret agents live, and Matthew had to decide whether he could, or not. 

Francis strolled over to Lovino's desk as he and Matthew were still discussing the association. 

"Lovino, mind if I steal your friend away for a bit?" he charmingly inquired. 

The brunet rolled his eyes to mask his timidity. He turned to his computer and began typing away rapidly. "No, go ahead. We're done anyway."

The older man nodded his head to Matthew, beckoning the latter to follow him. They left the desk area to climb up the few stairs leading to the elevator. Francis pressed the lower button then took a step back to stand next to Matthew, crossing his arms behind his back.

"So, how have you been since breakfast? Lovino didn't scare you, right?" asked Francis with a kind smile. 

"Oh no, no, Lovino was very pleasant, very kind. We went through a lot of things, and I'm getting a better idea of what the hell is going on now," chuckled Matthew. 

A ding came from the elevator as its doors slid open. Francis extended his arm toward the opening, inviting the Canadian to step in first. Once both inside, he pressed a button for the floor labeled "-1" which was one story under the one they were currently at. The elevator began its descent. 

"Where are we going?" questioned Matthew as the doors parted once again. 

"I'm going to fix you up with some proper clothes for your day-to-day life as well as for your future missions," replied Francis. 

They walked down a long and wide hallway, doors spaced out along its sides. Matthew read the labels on the walls as he walked past them. There was a laboratory, then on the other side there was a weapons room, then next to it a boiler room, and so on. Finally, at the end there was a workshop room, which Francis walked into. He signed a sheet that was hanging from a wall then turned on the lights. The space was large with three rows of long, dirtied and damaged wooden tables. It smelled of wood, burnt metal, and some type of glue. There were many different types of machines going from electrical saws to sewing machines all lined against a wall. In the far back were huge shelves stocked with materials like wood, metal pipes, rolls of fabric, cable wires, and sheets of paper. A lot of hand tools were hanging over the walls or stored in drawers. 

Francis rummaged through some drawers until he pulled out a measuring tape. "I'm going to have to measure you, if that's alright."

"Of course," answered Matthew. He approached Francis and removed the orange from his pocket, setting it on a table nearby. 

He spread his arms out so that the blond could wrap the tape around his chest, then arms, then shoulders. As Francis did this, he jolted down numbers on an old notepad, sticking the crayon his between his lips when using the tape. They began having a casual conversation while the older agent worked.

"Tell me Matthew, do you speak French?" asked Francis.

"Well, my mom and her parents come from Quebec, so she used to speak French to me when she was still alive, and my grandparents spoke French to each other when they raised me. So I can sort of speak it, although I haven't anymore since I was twenty."

"Intéressant," hummed the long-haired blond while walking to the end of the room. "And would you mind speaking French with me? I awfully miss it and no one here speaks an ounce of respectable French."

From the back of the workshop, Francis pulled out two large rolls of black cloth. He heaved them onto his shoulders then walked back to Matthew. The rolls were spread across the long working table, toppling over the edge a little bit. 

The Canadian pondered for a second, trying to remember just how much French he really knew. In the end, he argued to himself, speaking with Francis could only improve his language skills, so there was not reason not to. 

"Sure, I would love speaking French with you," answered Matthew with a shy smile. "Although I don't know how much of my squawking you'll understand."

Both men laughed. Matthew peeled his orange as he watched Francis draw out a template on see-through paper. He ate the fruit while watching and talking to his superior. They pursued their conversation until a voice on speaker phone interrupted their bilingual banter. 

"Mission overview will begin in five minutes." It was Lovino's voice being distorted across the halls. "All members are requested to attend."

"We'd better head back up," smiled Francis. "I'll continue on my own and give you the suit once it's ready."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you."

"Don't worry, it's my job."

Francis left the cloth and tools on the table. He and Matthew walked over to the exit. He signed the sheet again then turned off the lights, closing the door behind them. They headed to the elevator and waited to get to the first floor.

*

The glass conference room was already filled with the other members when Francis and Matthew arrived. The men were sitting around the oval table except Ludwig, who was standing at the end of it. Even Feliciano was there, sitting in a corner, happily conversing with Antonio. 

"We're here, thank you for waiting," announced Francis as he pulled the glass door open. He let Matthew enter before him.

The group turned to look at both men. They all presented kind smiles to Matthew and offered him a seat near the front of the room. Well, all except Gilbert, who, just like at breakfast, kept his eyes glued onto the blond, making the latter fidget in his seat. He could feel the gaze burn through his skin which made it very difficult to concentrate on the younger brother's introductory speech—he missed about five minutes due to his mind fixating on the rude man. Nevertheless, Matthew took deep breaths and focused as best he could on what Ludwig was saying. 

"This means we're going to have about three weeks to train Matthew," said the stern blond. This caught Matthew's attention. "Now that we know what we're going to be doing for this mission, let's get to know who we're working with. Lovino?"

"Yup," replied the brunet, standing up and switching places with Ludwig. "First target is a British assassin who's known as Arthur Kirkland. He's been escaping international authorities for years now because of his stealth and premeditation. His crime scenes are always licked clean, the deaths are either filed under mysterious circumstances or they found a suspect who fits the description, and most impressively, no one has seen him and lived to tell the tale. This is the only picture we have of him."

Lovino clicked on his tiny remote. An image of a man in a trench-coat with a hat over his face was projected on the white screen. The only feature visible on that picture was the man's chin and a few black strands of hair flowing from under the hat. 

"Aw come on, that's what we have to work with?" complained Gilbert, finally paying attention to the conference.

"Yes, unfortunately," scowled Lovino. "I've searched deep into the web and any kind of data system, but the name Arthur Kirkland is affiliated with very few promising leads. This is probably because it's his assassin alias and not his day-to-day name, of course. Furthermore, there is very little chance this picture shows any of his real features."

"Don't worry Lovi, you'll track him down I know it," reassured the younger brother. 

"Thanks. Anyway, he always targets important political figures and is probably employed by very highly-placed people. On the other hand, the second target, Alfred F. Jones, a hitman who lives and works in America, is generally hired by anyone to kill anyone. He's a lot less careful and methodical than Kirkland, we actually have a lot of footage of this guy running into mafia fronts guns ablaze."

Here were multiple images set one next to the other depicting a young man shooting at people in cold blood. The security footage was not of very high quality but it was very easy to see the man's face. He had light hair, a square jaw, thin glasses, and a wicked smile plastered on his face in each picture. 

"How come he hasn't been caught yet?" asked Matthew. 

Lovino pointed his remote at the Canadian with a proud grin, apparently waiting for such a comment. "Because he's completely unpredictable. As much as his crime scenes are littered with evidence and his identity is known to every officer of the law, he has no pattern whatsoever. He's excellent at getting in and out without being seen or caught by law enforcement, and other than when killing people, his face rarely comes up in any security system at all."

"So he's good at moving around unnoticed... probably doesn't have a steady hangout," speculated Francis aloud. 

"Yeah," agreed the brunet. "He's been all over America, his killings happen over a varied span of time, his killing-free days also fluctuate from job to job. Basically unless you accidentally see him in the streets one day, you're never seeing him again."

"Alright, enough with the backstory," said Antonio, leaning forward to rest his chin on his propped up hand. "How do we catch these bastards?"

The Italian man smirked as he slammed one hand on the table. "Glad you asked, Carriedo."

The projector displayed a map with green and blue dots over various cities. The blue dots were concentrated in America and the green dots were spread all across Europe, with a few occasional dots around other continents. 

"I'm going to need some help, but basically what we have to do is A) try to find out who Kirkland is, where he lives, and how to get to him, and B) we're going to have to predict Jones' next move and catch him red-handed."

"To do this, Lovino, Ludwig, and I should study every promising footage available and possible money trail to figure them out," announced Gilbert. "Antonio and Francis, you guys should start working on our gear. We'll keep you updated regarding what we might need as the investigation moves forward."

Matthew gaped at the founder in surprise. It was bizarre watching the serious side he had witnessed the night before take the reigns here. The blond realized Gilbert would have to be responsible at least sometimes since he was the co-manager of an entire secret organization after all. Still, observing this authority coming from the silly, arrogant man was bewildering. 

"Sounds good," agreed Antonio.

"Yes, yes," said Francis. 

The projector was turned off and Lovino walked back to his seat. Ludwig closed his file as he glanced around the room.

"Any questions?"

The silence in the room made it extremely difficult for Matthew to muster up the courage to say something. Raising his hand timidly, he asked, "Yes, actually, um, what should I do?"

"For the moment being you will stick to your workouts and agent training. Everyday another member will help you train, starting with me today," explained Ludwig. "So if that's all, we should start preparing lunch and get on with our tasks."

The team shuffled out of the conference room to head to the kitchen. Together, they each made themselves some sandwiches with a salad on the side. Feliciano took out a homemade pie from the refrigerator for dessert. They all enjoyed their meal while getting to know Matthew a little more. The Canadian learned a lot about each man and about the association as a whole. Just like at breakfast, it was a pleasant atmosphere which helped Matthew ease in. After chatting around for a while, some members stood up to go back to work. 

Before he left, Antonio gave Matthew a metal slate with "Lt. Matthew Williams" written on it—it was for his room. He thanked the Spaniard then headed toward the living quarters to change for his workout. He was a little nervous about what he would have to go through, but at the same time a spark of excitement flickered in his chest as he considered finally doing something different from his previous routine. Moreover, the thought of playing hockey—even just field hockey—motivated the Canadian to get ready for his training.


	7. Much Anticipated Moment

The training to get into B.T.A. shape was exhausting, especially in the beginning. During the first few days of working out with the different members, Matthew could not keep up with their intense routines. His first workout was with Ludwig. Together they worked on strengthening muscles and cardio. The drills were the typical kind the Canadian would encounter during his time in the military, so he was familiar with all of it, however, that did not make any of it easier. Matthew was so dejected after his first afternoon of training that to cheer him up, the whole team agreed to play field hockey that night. And so, that became their routine: hardcore exercices during the day, then some friendly sports playing in the evening. The discreet blond was often cheered up after such games since he was very good at passing by the defense unnoticed, thus scoring many points for his team. Those wins helped greatly in keeping his spirits high, therefore he cherished those group activities.

After Ludwig's workout session, Matthew spent his entire Tuesday with Francis. The French man was teaching him parkour exercises such as scaling slick walls in less than a minute, jumping down from incredible heights without injuring oneself, and climbing up a single rope all the way to the ceiling. These activities were also fairly familiar to Matthew, which made him less scared to attempt them. By the end of the day, he was capable of pulling his own weight halfway up the rope—an achievement of which he was very proud. 

Following that was his day with Feliciano. At first, Matthew was surprised the coffee boy would be training with him, but the team explained this was a relaxing workout including yoga for the core and acrobatics since the Italian brunet proved to be very good at such exercices. The team obviously lied, because Wednesday was the day Matthew hated the most, and it was the furthest thing from relaxing. The flexible twenty-four year-old first made him suffer against parallel bars on which he had to keep his balance, spin around, and sit uncomfortably, and then he forced him to contort in impossible positions, twisting and turning until all of his muscles and joints were on the brink of rupturing. The entire workout was absolute torture, and despite being only two years older than Feliciano, Matthew felt so ancient and stiff in comparison to the Italian. That night, the blond could not even sit because even his coccyx had suffered from the harsh treatment of the parallel bars. 

Weapon training was something Matthew had not been looking forward to. Ever since his incident a year prior, he had avoided dangerous situations as best he could, therefore steering clear of any sort of weapon. Thankfully, Antonio was very understanding and helped the Canadian ease into his training. They began by studying each firearm one by one, commenting on their strengths and weaknesses, when to use them and why. In time, the Spaniard showed Matthew how to dismantle and reassemble a gun as well as how to properly load and cock one. There was never a shot fired nor any bullets in sight, much to the blond's relief. By the end of the day, the duo was very proud of Matthew's progress since he was able to perfectly piece a gun together as well as cite each firearm's uses. They had decided to stop there and pursue next week, hoping that by then Matthew would be confident enough to wield a loaded weapon. Antonio even suggested they take a few hours per week to talk about the Canadian's trauma in hope of helping him handle his panic attacks so that he would be better prepared to even consider being near a charged firearm. None of the members were certified psychologists, but both Antonio and Francis had to deal with their fair share of traumatized subordinates during their times as captains in their respective military forces, therefore they had some means to help, even if it was not professional support. 

To this, Matthew wholeheartedly agreed, only then realizing he should have stayed with his psychologist much longer than he had in order to work through his problems much earlier on. After the incident, the military offered him a few sessions with a shrink, but after the obligatory ten sessions, he quit and enclosed himself in his apartment. Even after the grocery store robbery, he did not consult professional guidance when he obviously should have. As much as he knew talking about his trauma to a psychologist would help, Matthew was discouraged every time due to the pain it caused him to remember and relive the moment. Because of that, he preferred avoiding and entirely suppressing those dark moments of his life. However, he now judged himself to be just a little bit more confident to tackle his issues. Also, he did not have much of a choice considering his new line of work. If he wanted to help the B.T.A., then he needed to work through at least some of his fears, and that was a good place to start in order to heal. 

Finally came Friday, his hand-to-hand combat training. This exercice was led by none other than the irritating Gilbert. Throughout the week, him and Matthew had had a difficult time connecting, to say the least. As much as the Canadian greatly appreciated every other member of the B.T.A., he could not stand the youngest co-founder. The man would either never talk to Matthew or make incredibly stupid comments to him—there was no in between. And when he was keeping his mouth shut—much to Matthew's appreciation—he was staring intensely at the blond for no apparent reason other than to make him extremely uncomfortable. Therefore, Matthew made it his mission to spend as little time as possible with the German agent. His weekly fighting training decided to foil those plans.

That morning, Matthew noticed Gilbert was not at breakfast with the rest of the team. He seated himself between Antonio and Feliciano with his bowl of fruit salad. They pleasantly conversed about anything that crossed their minds from the current price of potatoes to the first time they went swimming in the ocean. Lovino and Ludwig were there as well but simply listened to the conversation in silence. Piping up with the occasional anecdote was Francis, who was otherwise totally engrossed by a book he had brought to the table. The group of friends slowly finished their breakfast, Matthew being the first since he had to begin his exercises shortly. He placed his bowl and fork in the dishwasher then began walking toward the main hall. 

"By the way," he asked on his way out, "does anybody know where Gilbert is? I'm supposed to meet with him this morning."

Ludwig checked his wristwatch. "Seeing that it's a quarter past eight, I'd say he's been in the bodybuilding room for about half an hour now."

"Oh," exclaimed Matthew, unable to mask his surprise. The blond had not expected Gilbert to be such an early riser, much less to be a bodybuilding-type of person. He put his thoughts aside to instead get ready for his morning training. 

Once he was dressed in his new sportswear—him and Francis had gone up to town on Tuesday to buy a few more clothes considering the Canadian had barely brought any with him—Matthew made his way to the training quarters with a water bottle in hand. He stepped into the long hallway and searched for the bodybuilding room. Because there were two different rooms for such a purpose, the new agent had to check both to see where Gilbert was. The first room was dedicated to upper body machines and free weights, but there was no sign of the German founder. Matthew closed the door and walked to the second room where all the lower body and cardio equipment were placed. There he found Gilbert working out on a leg press machine. His face was glistening with sweat and his eyebrows furrowed in effort. With rapid, short breaths he pushed the footplate up then slowly let it come down again. As he did his reps, his quadriceps were tensed and much more pronounced than usual, showing off how toned they truly were. While observing the man working out, Matthew realized that Gilbert had always been a fit person but it was never visible because of the loose-fitting jeans and hoodie he often wore. 

After unashamedly staring for a good second or two, Matthew brought himself back to earth. He quietly walked up to Gilbert, hoping the latter would eventually notice him. He did not. The Canadian gave Gilbert a gentle tap on the shoulder which startled the man. 

"Scheisse! What the he–" he exclaimed, folding his knees in surprise and letting the weights clatter onto the stack. He grasped Matthew's wrist in a flash while readying his other arm to throw a punch. 

"Ow!"

Gilbert rapidly assessed the situation and let go of the blond's arm. 

"Shit man," he breathed out while throwing his head against the backrest. "Don't ever do that again, I could have broken the machine– or your nose."

"Sorry," murmured Matthew as he rubbed his wrist. "It's just that I've been waiting for a few minutes but you weren't saying anything."

"Oh, my bad, I didn't notice you."

"Yeah, I figured."

The man stared into Matthew's eyes with a serious, almost frightening gaze. He then stood up from the leg press and wiped his face with the towel that was laid over the backrest. 

"Alright, let's go," said Gilbert, waving his hand at Matthew as he passed by him. He bent down to grab his water bottle and opened the door leading to the hallway. 

The Canadian exited first and headed toward the dojo where the combat training was supposed to take place. The space was not too big, just large enough to comfortably spar or rehearse martial art sequences. Upon entering the room, the wall on the right was entirely covered with mirrors to help with formation and posture. Facing the entrance were two standing punching bags in the left corner, many different types of kick and punch pads were hanging on the wall, and some hooks held several weapons like nunchucks, bo staffs, and swords up against its surface. On the left side of the dojo were baskets with boxing gloves, combat gloves, sparring gear, and bandages. There was even a wooden bar for stretching fixed on the same wall as the door. 

Both men deposited their bottles on the ground near the entrance. Gilbert walked up to the center of the room and clapped his hands together.

"Let's start with a short warmup, okay?"

"You're the boss," replied Matthew while stepping forward.

Gilbert chuckled, "Yeah, yeah I am. Good, then, start by stretching your arms and legs, I'm gonna put on some music."

There was a small speaker box laying in the far corner of the room, waiting to be used. Gilbert pulled his phone out from his pocket and crouched down next to the rectangular device. As he did that, Matthew languidly pulled his arms across his chest or behind his back. Soon, an upbeat melody filled the space. The German agent trotted back to the center of the mats, shaking his head at Matthew.

"Oh come on! What is that? You look like a three-year-old in dire need of a nap," scolded Gilbert. 

Matthew pursed his lips together to hide a smile. "Right, sorry."

"Look, like this."

Gilbert clasped his hands together and began rotating them with enthusiasm. He also circled each of his ankles one at a time. Matthew followed suit, copying each of the man's movements, finally feeling energized and motivated to workout. They warmed up by doing some light cardio exercices as well as pushups, jumping squats, and lunges. Once their heartbeats were up and their faces slightly flushed, Gilbert decided to begin the combat training. First, they went over what type of fighting the Canadian was most familiar with, it turned out to be Taekwondo. Then, both agents practiced a series of martial art movements just to get back into the flow before beginning an actual one-on-one fight. Each man stood in front of the mirror-wall and practiced punches, kicks, and blocks all the while observing their forms in the reflection. Matthew simply followed Gilbert's lead and imitated each action the latter did, slowly getting the hang of the movements once again.

While they were repeating the moves, the music changed from being some modern pop to one of Matthew's favorite 1950's song. The Canadian looked over to Gilbert's reflection in the mirror with an impressed smile, but the man was unfazed and pursued his Muay Thai strikes. 

"You listen to Édith Piaf?" asked the blond as he performed a high kick. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah I do," replied Gilbert, eventually breaking his concentration. "Do you want me to change it?"

"No, no, it's fine. I was just– uh... I was just surprised that's all."

"Yeah well, some of her songs are really upbeat and great to workout with," explained the German agent. "But don't tell Francis! He made me listen to her and he would never let me live it down if he ever found out that I actually like something he introduced me to."

Matthew chuckled while throwing punches in the air in front of him. "No worries then, I'll keep your secret."

"So! How about we spar and see if you can beat the undefeated, awesome me," exclaimed Gilbert.

This comment immediately ruined the pleasant atmosphere and Matthew's feelings of sympathy for the man. For once, the blond thought they might have found a way to finally connect, but no, the arrogant agent had reverted to his unlikable self before any bridges could be built.

"Fine by me," muttered Matthew. 

Gilbert went to turn off the music and rummaged through the baskets on the side of the room. He took two pairs of gloves and threw one pair over to Matthew who caught it with ease. They positioned each other face to face with about two meters between them. 

"First person to knock over the other for five seconds wins," announced Gilbert. "No elbows or knees, no punches in the face, and no crotch attacks."

"Yup."

"Alright, whenever you're ready, Birdie," taunted the German. 

A simmering feeling of vexation set in Matthew's chest. For his own pride and own enjoyment, he was determined to sack the cocky man. Thanks to his recent training with the other members of the B.T.A., his muscles gradually regained some strength, breathing became easier, and he was once again in charge of his body and mind to some extent—something he had not experienced in a long time. With this newfound energy, the Canadian was confident he could take Gilbert down. After all, men like him were the easiest opponents due to their arrogance which clouded their thoughts, thus preventing them from properly responding to attacks. 

Without warning, Matthew dove forward to strike at Gilbert's side. The latter blocked the offense with his forearm, responding with a rapid thrust against the Canadian's chest. The blow forced him backwards, but he caught himself before stumbling any further. He retaliated with a high kick, aiming for Gilbert's ribs. Propping his arms in a right angle, the B.T.A. founder stopped the attack. They pursued fighting in this way, throwing fast kicks and punches one after the other, diving down and jumping up, deflecting and countering strikes. Their movements were well coordinated and unusually harmonious considering it was a fight. Every attack or defense was fluid, graceful, and full of beauty. Each step forward one man took, the other took a step back. When one swung to the left, the second came from the right. It seemed like their minds were not controlling the fight but there bodies were. From an outsider's perspective, it almost seemed like a fierce dance, which it kind of was, in a way. 

By this time, a few other agents snuck into the room to watch Gilbert and Matthew spar. First Ludwig had silently slipped in to monitor the Canadian Lieutenant's renowned combat skills, but the curious coffee boy had noticed him sneaking off therefore followed him to the matted room. Both Antonio and Francis had also planned on witnessing the duel, so they casually crept into the space after Ludwig and Feliciano. Pretty soon, the whole association was either sitting or leaning against the wall opposite to the mirrors, keenly observing the fight going on. Everyone except Lovino, who said he had much better things to do than watch two men brawl, had gone to see that morning's training. 

After a few minutes of sparring, neither Matthew nor Gilbert had the upper hand yet. They both succeeded at making their adversary fall down but were never able to keep them pinned down. Their breaths became uneven and their foreheads were drizzling with sweat. They were starting to get tired and Gilbert grew irritated, which was exactly what Matthew needed to take the German agent down. With fatigue and impatience fogging his thoughts, his movements will become sloppy and his focus will be divided, allowing the blond to strike when unexpected. 

Matthew fired several rapid punches at Gilbert's chest, occasionally breaking the latter's block and pounding his ribs. The light-haired man staggered in brief disorientation, a lapse of inattention which the Canadian used to his advantage. He glided from side to side, delivering Taekwondo kicks against his opponent's thighs, thus weakening his stance. Finally, he lunged forward with a punch to the left, missing Gilbert's elbow by a few centimeters since the latter dodged to the side. Using his momentum, Matthew spun around and slid his foot over the mat, hitting the German's calf with force, which made him topple over onto his back since his legs had been previously weakened. Already on the floor, the quiet blond pounced over Gilbert, holding him in a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu grapple. His right knee laid firmly in the center of his adversary's chest while one arm secured the man's shoulders against the ground and the other held his leg up under his armpits. Matthew used all his strength to constrict Gilbert's limbs against his body and focused all his weight onto his knee, effectively pinning the man down. Both struggled against the other's grip; one trying to break free while one tightened his clutch.

"I think we have a winner," announced Ludwig, slowly clapping his hands. 

The rest of the spectators joined the applause which surprised both fighters. Processing the situation quickly, Matthew released Gilbert from his hold, helping the man up to his feet. He shook the Canadian's hand energetically.

"Congratulations Birdie, your fighting skills aren't too bad," praised Gilbert. 

Matthew smiled despite the patronizing nickname. "Thanks."

"Your little disappearing trick was pretty cool too."

The blond sighed in dejection. "Ah, right, that."

Turning to the unsolicited crowd, the German founder crossed his arms over his chest. 

"And what are you all doing here? Don't you have jobs to do?"

"Oh but we couldn't miss Matthew's first fight," explained Feliciano. 

"Yes, it was a much anticipated moment," continued Antonio.

"You guys are lucky Lovino does all the work around here. At least he's trying to find the bad guys," scolded Gilbert as he wiped his face with his towel.

"Actually," came a voice from the hallway speaker, "I was watching too. But to be fair I was waiting for a file to download."

The light-haired agent groaned while the rest of the team chuckled. Matthew unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a long sip. He walked over to the rest of the group, looking around the room in confusion. 

"How did he see us?" he asked the men who were all standing near the exit. 

Francis uncrossed his arms to point at a discreet lens perched in the ceiling corner. "There are cameras almost everywhere. For security reasons," explained the blond. "Everywhere save private spaces like living quarters or restrooms."

"Only Antonio and I have access to the footage and after ten weeks the footage gets deleted," continued Lovino through the intercom. "So no need to worry about invasion of privacy, we only check the footage if there's been a system breech or something's gone missing– you get the gist."

"And how is he–"

Gilbert interrupted the Canadian before he could complete his thought. "The cameras have no audio so he's tapping into one of our cellphones to hear what's going on," he said with a sigh. 

"Ah, that must be me then," chuckled Antonio as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Alright well, that's enough, let's leave these two alone so they can continue their training."

"Yes, thank you," exclaimed Gilbert. He swatted them away like a fisherman swatting flies off his catch. 

The agents left without any objections, quietly filing out the door and back to their tasks. Once again, Matthew and Gilbert were the only ones in the dojo. They took a few seconds to completely catch their breaths from their previous fight, casually taking a couple steps around the room. 

"Alright," said the older man clapping his hands together. "Now that I can see– um, now that I know what you can do, we can begin some real training."

Matthew nodded and placed his bottle on the floor. 

"First of all, your moves are interesting and you know when to strike. However, your stance isn't grounded enough which makes you loose strength when you attack as well as risk falling down."

The blond listened with great interest and astonishment. After only fifteen minutes of sparring, Gilbert was able to notice the flaws in Matthew's fighting, despite occasionally failing to notice the man during their match. Thus, they practiced a few different moves on a standing punching bag, notably Muay Thai elbow strikes and boxing punches. Gilbert stood behind the stuffed bag to secure it while Matthew repeatedly hit it at the founder's command. The blond channeled all his feelings of anxiety, of apprehension, of frustration into every single one of his strikes. His face was beat red and dripping with sweat. Inside his chest were his burning lungs and his heart was thrashing around wildly. An old flame reignited in his being as Gilbert shouted directives directly into his ears. He was sent right back to his military years, the times where he pushed his body and mind to reach goals he had never even envisioned. Deep down, Matthew knew he liked the strict and harsh environment of the army; he liked being kept in line and thrusted forward to challenge new limits. The rage he felt because of his superior officers fueled him to great achievements, it was the best source of motivation Matthew had yet to have found. The military was a place where he could rely on himself entirely, just like he had done for so many years before. Having an unlikable superior ordering him around while the Canadian gave the most of himself was sending him back to those days of indifference and solitude, the days before his worries and fears were burned into his mind forever after a single incident. Knowing all this, Matthew relished in the feeling of nostalgia, trying to relive the moments where his trauma was just a casual warning on the bottom of the screen and not a blaring alarm shutting down the entire system. 

However, as much as an attempt to recreate past events seems appeasing and appealing, it prevents you from experiencing new things that could help you move on and be truly happy. In Matthew's case, for instance, he thought he needed to immerge himself into the same old lifestyle he had before, when in reality, what he needed the most were people he could rely on, have fun with, and just unwind with. He needed a family like one he had not had since he was ten years old, and thankfully, the B.T.A. was starting to feel like the one he needed. 

*

For two more weeks, Matthew's training program continued like convened, repeating the sessions and incorporating new exercices. On Saturdays, he had a second general workout with Ludwig and on Sundays he learned how to hack into security systems as well as basic computer hard drives with Lovino's help. Every day or so, him and Antonio would discuss Matthew's distress. They made a lot of progress seeing that the blond was having little to no panic attacks, even when handling firearms or when being aimed at (with unloaded weapons). And when he did get flashbacks or got physically ill, he was now capable of finding thoughts to help him relax, of doing actions which helped ease the pain. He was still unable to be near an armed gun, unlike what they had intended, but Antonio assured him there was no rush, especially when it comes to mental health. 

Otherwise, the outcomes in every other training category were very promising since Matthew had rapidly regained his strength and physical abilities. He even became comfortable with coding and overriding security systems, amongst other computing things. The Canadian's relationships with every agent also got stronger. His relationship with Gilbert however seemed to have worsened over time. The man never stopped his weird staring and appeared to be hounding Matthew every single day. Without fail, the German agent would follow him to the gym or immerse himself into a conversation he was not initially invited to. This especially exasperated the blond since he wanted to spend as little time as possible around the loudmouth bother and his creepy gazing. Their weekly training was the only time Matthew could stand the guy. During their practice, Gilbert would be concentrated and stern—basically just like a normal superior—which the newest recruit appreciated the most. Moreover, the opportunity to physically overpower the annoying man was the highlight of Matthew's week, even though Gilbert was holding his ground a lot better than the first week. Their matches often ended in a tie or simply never ended at all except due to exhaustion. This new challenge only fueled the blond's will to beat his boss.

Regarding the B.T.A. mission, Lovino was able to track down one of the targets. An airport surveillance footage dating back to two weeks prior depicted a man holding a striking resemblance to the supposed image of Kirkland. The individual had short, curly brown hair with big, square glasses on his face. He was traveling with a briefcase and carry-on suitcase. His clothes were dapper, giving him a gentlemanly appearance. What tipped Lovino off was an encrypted transfer of money from a British bank to a small artisanal kiosk’s account in Los Angeles. This unusual transfer led the Italian to scout different American airport footage for days to see if any suspicious people had arrived since then. Gilbert and Ludwig had kept tabs on the individuals they deemed sketchy and Lovino analyzed each feature with the reference image they had. Thus, this curly-haired man was the closest match they found. The footage came from the San Francisco international airport, meaning that was where Kirkland was—if only for a moment. Other than that, the association still had no idea why the assassin was in America nor had they any information on the loose canon that was Jones. 

*

It being Friday, Matthew had just spent his entire day with Gilbert and was now spent of any energy he could have. That day, they had begun fighting with different types of blades, practicing how to strike and avoid being struck. The fear of actually being hurt coupled with the intense exercices was enough to mentally as well as physically tire Matthew for a long time. After the session, he took a shower then headed to the main hall to chill with the rest of the team before dinner. All the agents were sitting at the break tables near the desk area, chatting pleasantly about nothing particularly important. Unlike everyone who was sitting, Gilbert was standing with one foot on a chair, towel around his shoulders, still drenched in the sweat from their workout. He had directly went to join the group instead of showering first so he was in his gray sports jersey and black shorts, clothing that exposed his toned body. 

It had crossed Matthew's mind that one of the reasons why he could better stand the German founder during their training or other sport activities might—just might—be because he could not help himself but ogle at the man's very attractive figure when it was displayed in form-fitting sportswear. Maybe unconsciously, when the Canadian was reminded of Gilbert's handsomeness, he was less bothered by the latter's buoyant personality—but this is merely a base theory with no true foundation, so he never gave it another thought. 

It took the group a while to realize Matthew was approaching them—yet less longer than it did three weeks ago, which was a never seen before improvement—but as soon as they did, they cheerfully invited him at the table. He sat down between Francis and Feliciano, immediately being filled in on the current gossip. They were debating whether a tomato should be considered a fruit or a vegetable in the kitchen, despite its botanical categorization. 

"Antonio believes it should be a fruit, the rest of us are skeptical," briefed the youngest Italian. 

"Really?" chuckled Matthew.

"Hey hey hey now, listen to me," the Spaniard stated while leaning toward the new arrival. "You serve tomatoes raw whether they be sliced or not–"

"Same with a cucumber or a carrot. Besides, the beauty of a fruit is to bite into it without any concern, you can't do that with a tomato!" argued Gilbert.

"I bite directly into tomatoes sometimes," Lovino pointed out with a shrug.

"Yes thank you!"

"Yeah well, you cook tomatoes, they are mostly used for cooking, like– like– ugh! What recipes use tomatoes?" shouted the elder German, throwing his arms in the air.

"Bolognese for pasta!" suggested Feliciano.

"Soup?" added the Canadian. 

"Yes! Exactly, what they said."

"You also cook other fruits," Antonio snapped back with a mocking smile. "You can grill peaches, you can sauté bananas for a curry– ooh fried pineapple is heavenly. And don't get me started on olives– they are also a fruit and are very often used to cook with."

"Are you seriously trying to convince me that– that when I drink a tomato soup, I am in fact, drinking a smoothie?" cried out Gilbert.

"Well if you want to put it that way, then technically, yes."

"Oh my God I am going to–" Gilbert ended his sentence with a string of mumbled German curse words. 

Ludwig snorted from the corner of the table while Antonio simply rolled his eyes smugly. It was the first time Matthew witnessed the stoic man laugh—sort of. Although taken aback at first, he eased into it and appreciated the funny banter as well. He loved the amusing atmosphere the team often had when together, it was a great way to unwind after a tense day. 

"Speaking of fruits and vegetables," said Francis, "I think it's Gilbert's turn to go grocery shopping this week."

"Ugh, right."

"Why don't you take Matthew with you — like that you can see how we tend to do it for when we send you alone," Francis concluded, looking at his blond friend. 

An uncomfortable pressure squeezed against Matthew's chest. There were a great many things he would rather do than spend more time alone with Gilbert after an entire day of being around only him. However, he had no excuse and could not refuse so blatantly in front of everyone. He tightened his grip on his water bottle. 

"Yeah, sure, why not."

"Great, Gilbert why don't you get ready while Lovino prepares the list," suggested the French agent. 

Gilbert lazily dropped his leg from the chair and threw his towel back over his shoulder. He trudged toward the door leading to the individual rooms with a thumb up over his head. "Fine," he mumbled. 

Lovino stood up from his seat. "Come Carriedo, I'll need your help."

"Whatever you need Lovi," replied Antonio, draping his arm around the shorter man's shoulders. 

They walked away to the Italian's desk where they audibly continued the tomato debate with great passion. Soon, Ludwig and Feliciano also got up to leave, heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner for the team since it was already half past seven. Both remaining blonds kept quiet, each deep in thought. Matthew was worrying about how Gilbert would further annoy him while Francis was casually observing the bickering men a few desks over. 

"How have you been feeling these days," asked Francis in French. 

Matthew broke away from his thoughts. He replied in the same language, "Oh, I'm doing okay. I'm doing better, actually, I think."

"That's good to hear."

Another brief silence floated between them before Francis pursued. 

"Don't forget to go outside more often. As a human, you need social interactions, emotional connections, physical contact. We can't necessarily offer all that down here, so you have to seek out what you need up there." 

"I have all that here," chuckled Matthew awkwardly. "We interact everyday, I'm getting along with every... with everyone just fine, and, well there's physical contact whenever we play sports and stuff."

"That's not what I meant," said Francis with a raised eyebrow. 

"Oh."

"Get out there one night, meet new people. Even though we're in the middle of ass-crack nowhere" —he said that part in English— "I'm sure there are nice women and men for you to meet."

A rush of embarrassment crawled onto Matthew's cheeks as he stared at his hands. 

"Ah, well, I– it's just that– you know, I mean– I've never really been good at, um, how do you say– Socializing? Yeah, so, I'm really used to this isolation life, I promise."

Francis was going to reply when Lovino called out to him.

"Bonnefoi, what was that weird thing you wanted for your cooking?"

"It's foie gras and it is not weird, it is perfectly delicious," retorted the French man. 

"Yeah well I doubt Boringville Colorado has your precious foie gras in stock."

"Just put it on the list."

"Fine!"

Francis turned back to Matthew while shaking his head. The younger blond took this opportunity to change the subject to something less unpleasant for him.

"Does he always call everyone by their last names?" he asked in French again.

"Hmm? Lovino? Yes, it's his way of showing endearment. You know, we all have nicknames we like to give people we're close with."

"Yeah, or when we want to annoy people," muttered Matthew, thinking of the unfortunate nickname Gilbert had bestowed upon him.

Francis smirked. He rested his chin over his crossed hands. "Really?"

The Canadian gave in with a sigh, confessing to his friend. "Gilbert has been using a condescending nickname whenever he speaks to me and it is just– ugh, I feel patronized, like, as if he thinks he's better than me or something."

"He does think that with everyone," chuckled the blue-eyed blond. "But I don't think he uses it to be rude. You know, I don't think he uses nicknames with a lot of people. In fact, other than his brother, he doesn't call anyone anything except their actual name."

"Oh great, so he specifically chose me as a victim to his whims."

Francis frowned. He brushed the hair out of his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Never mind that, just believe me when I say it comes from a good place with good intentions."

The Canadian contorted his face into an incredulous smile until he realized his friend was being serious. He pursed his lips then tapped his thumb on his thigh. 

"Okay," he shrugged, still not entirely convinced. 

"And though you say you're used to being isolated, you must realize that you're not happiest in that state. I think you do like being around people, good people, who care about you like you care about them. And you should try to find more people like that. Find yourself someone who is so entirely captivated by your person that they will never not notice you."

Matthew stared at Francis in awe. His heart was beating loudly in his chest and his muscles were aching to let go of his bones. All he wanted was to collapse, curl up into a ball, and cry his feelings out while being comforted by a friend. And for once in his life, he believed that might actually be a possiblity. The kind words touched a very sensitive cord of his; the sentiment conveyed was something Matthew had never known he needed to hear. What Francis said seemed so obvious, but the Canadian had spent so many years hiding behind his timidity, cursing himself for being so passive, that he let himself be defined by what he deemed the negative aspects of his personality. Just because he was more reserved than most people did not mean he was less worthy of experiencing the amusement others did. He also wanted to be part of the inside jokes, to be invited into the conversation, to belong with people he loved. Finally, he could see that he was allowed to want those things, and that he might even achieve them without having to change any part of himself, all he needed to do was change how he perceived his own self. 

The blond was left speechless, wrestling with the new wave of emotions that had emerged from deep inside his soul. It took him the little strength he had left not to break down right there in the break area. He ran the words in his head on a loop, trying to force that stupid part of his brain to swallow the facts as they were. 

"Just know that the association will never try to come between you and your happiness. Don't be afraid to do what you want, even if it seems crazy. But don't do anything to hurt any of the members or our business, because we will bite back," laughed Francis. He laid a friendly hand on Matthew's arm. "Don't listen to anyone who says otherwise, even if that person is yourself."

"Thank you, Francis... I don't know what–"

"Hey is that French I hear?" hollered Gilbert as he strutted over to the break tables. He had changed into a comfortable pair of gray joggings and a blue tee-shirt. "What are you guys talking about? Are you talking about me behind my back?"

Francis retracted his hand from the Canadian's arm and set it under his chin. "Oh and what if we were?" he cooed. 

A flaming blush exploded on Matthew's face. He stared at the French founder with wide eyes, wondering if he would dare share what he had confessed to him earlier. The older man titled his head at his German friend, dismissing Matthew's visible fretfulness. 

"Ha, ha, very funny. Go on, make the stupid albino man paranoid with your fake gossip in your fancy French. It won't work, I don't care what you guys think. I know I'm awesome anyway," rambled Gilbert with a lot of frenzied hand gestures. "Ahem, Lovino where are you at with that list?"

"I'm done, come and get it."

The German agent clumsily walked over to the brunet to take the shopping list. 

"Go on, the sooner you begin, the sooner you'll get to eat," urged Francis in English. 

"Right."

Taking a deep breath to gather all of his emotions into a safe space inside his body, Matthew pushed his chair back so he could stand up. He advanced toward Gilbert who was making his way to the elevator. 

"Hey Matthew."

The man turned around. 

"Remember, people do strange things when they get hit by the lightning strike," declared Francis.

"Huh? What– I don't get it?"

"Think in French, and maybe it'll come to you. Well anyway, have fun you two."

Nothing of what the long-haired man said made any sense to Matthew. His mind was so fogged with confusion that he almost forgot he was supposed to be leaving. Finally, snapping out of it, he continued to where Gilbert was waiting.

"What did Francis want?"

"I seriously have no idea whatsoever."

This made Gilbert laugh. Matthew looked at him with suspicion, cocking his head to the side. 

"Oh he loves doing that. Speaking in riddles and whatnot. Don't worry about it."

The Canadian let a smile creep onto his face. He pressed the elevator button to go up then adjusted his glasses. "I wasn't going to worry about it."

"Good. Now come on Birdie, let's get this shopping over with so I can finally eat and hit the hay."

The elevator doors opened and both men stepped in. They exited the pantry closet after some uncomfortable struggling and made it to the kitchen. It was a little bit cleaner than when Matthew had first arrived—mostly due to the fact that he cleaned it every time the team spent a few hours outside, taking advantage of being in the house to tidy it up. They found some reusable shopping bags and headed out to the convenience store in the center of the small town. It was not a long walk from the little shack, just fifteen minutes, which was perfect for an early evening stroll. The sun was still lighting up the late august sky, keeping the desert warm for the night to come. It was a pleasant atmosphere, the fresh air felt good to inhale, even the dust rousing from each footstep was more appreciated than usual. Not many people were out, which was the norm in that small American town. 

As for the grocery store, it was probably the biggest building in town; there was not even a hospital nor a high school—citizens had to drive or take the few public transportations available over to the next town several kilometers away. In the store, there were many more things than one would expect from an establishment situated in such a deserted settlement. It was stocked with anything ranging from fresh produce to house cleaning products to lawn equipment—a sort of Target or Walmart, if you will, except it had no nationwide recognition. 

Upon arrival at the brightly lit store, the automatic doors slid to the side once the sensors noticed Matthew and Gilbert approaching. A gust of cool air conditioning swept over both men, embracing them as they stepped inside. The light-haired agent picked a shopping cart and placed the bags inside. He pushed it toward the produce section while beckoning his associate to follow. 

"Usually we just follow the store’s layout and pick out things we need that are on the list."

Matthew trailed behind Gilbert, looking around the supermarket. He had come a few times before, but he still was not entirely used to every product's whereabouts or how to zigzag between the aisles. Going there alone was not something he wanted to experience as of yet, so he was grateful to have come with someone, even if that someone was Gilbert. 

"Here," said the founder, waving the paper list in front of Matthew's face. "You tell me what's on the list and I pick the items up. Try to memorize where everything is located."

"Alright." 

The Canadian took the paper and scanned it in haste. He looked up to the stacks of fruits and vegetables displayed right in front of them.

"Well first we can take the bell-peppers, carrots, tomatoes, onions, and zucchini. Oh, I can get the fruit while you get the vegetables," proposed Matthew.

"Awesome, let's do that."

They each went in their separate direction to pick up the listed ingredients. The produce section was sort of like an amphitheater with stacks of fruits on one side, mountains of vegetables on the other, and an aisle running through it. Starting at one end, both agents circled back to the other extremity, remaining separated by the passageway. 

"Hey Gilbert?"

"Mmh?"

"Can you help me pick out the strawberry batches?"

Gilbert approached the other man while leaning over his cart handle. He glanced over at the multiple boxes filled with the red berry. 

"Just eat one."

"What?" 

"Yeah, go on. Do it."

"No! No I can't, what if I don't buy it?" panicked Matthew, feeling observed from every angle. 

"Dude, it's fine, you won't get in trouble for trying one. Here, look."

Gilbert reached over to pluck a ripe strawberry from the basket. He ate it all in one bite, leaving the pedicel between his fingers. His tongue ran over his teeth then his smacked his lips. 

"Eh, could be better. It's a bit sour," he concluded with a shrug. "Now you try one."

"I– no, I don't want to," replied the blond whilst shaking his head and hands. 

"Liar, I know you're starving. We haven't eaten all afternoon and after the workout we had, you and I are both famished."

Matthew scowled at his superior, knowing the latter was right. He timidly eyed the fruit while considering his options. Taking a quick glance over his shoulders, his hand darted to the batches and pulled out a strawberry. He plopped it in his mouth and chewed it rashly. 

"Oooh he did it!" exclaimed Gilbert, throwing his arms in the air in victory.

The poor Canadian was mortified. He pushed Gilbert's arms down, looking around them in worry. "Keep it down! What if someone sees us?"

"So what?" cackled Gilbert. "How was it?" 

"It was fine, we're taking it," muttered Matthew as he picked up the box.

"Are you sure?"

"I– yea–"

"Or are you just saying that because you feel bad and want to buy the batch?"

The blond lowered the box with a tight face. After brief consideration, he slowly placed it back on the shelf. Gilbert watched with extreme amusement, tilting his head against his propped up hand. The taste testing lasted a couple more seconds before Matthew settled on a box filled with bright red strawberries, one of which tasted perfectly sweet. With the German's approval, he placed it in the cart and they could finally pursue their shopping. They wandered through the supermarket picking things up as they went—the duo even found Francis' foie gras, although it was a very low-quality looking brand. As they shopped, the older agent occasionally teased his subordinate about the strawberry tasting, even getting Matthew to chuckle at his own expense. 

At some point, Gilbert began a sneezing fit, startling Matthew who was standing right beside him. 

"You okay?" asked the Canadian, placing an arm around the other's shoulders and leaning forward in concern. 

Gilbert shot back up, rubbing his nose. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. It's just this air conditioning, with my wet hair it's making me really cold."

Matthew glanced over to the man's white hair, still damp from his earlier shower. For some inexplicable reason, he had the urge to touch it, but just a few centimeters away from a strand, he stopped himself. He dove his hands into his pockets to prevent them from acting on their own in an embarrassing manner. 

"Speaking of air conditioning," continued Gilbert, "we should get you some eye drops."

"Huh?"

Standing a meter in front of the Canadian, Gilbert stopped with his back turned to the man. His arm folded over his head, letting his hand reach down to his neck. 

"It's just that– well, when we're, you-know-where, the ventilation dries and irritates your eyes, especially when you're wearing contacts. You're often blinking when you wear them for training, which is basically all day long. But I don't know, I guess I thought it mustn't be too comfortable so maybe eye drops could help," explained the German agent, trying to seem nonchalant. 

That was a very unexpected statement, especially coming from Gilbert. Matthew remained dumbfounded, staring at the back of his superior's head. It was true that his eyes would often burn near the end of the day due to tiredness, and the air conditioning did nothing to help that soreness. However, he had not really considered finding a solution, he had kind of accepted the fact that he would be blinking fifty times a minute for the rest of his career at the B.T.A. The shy blond relaxed his shoulders and clung onto one of his arms. 

"Sure, that would help actually."

Still without looking at Matthew, Gilbert nodded his head and pushed the shopping trolley forward, heading toward the hygiene and medical area. They picked a small package of eye drops to test out before committing to a larger exemplar. 

Now that they had crossed everything off their list, they were ready to go to the checkout. Since it was dinner time, there was no one else in the grocery store, therefore the agents could immediately begin loading their items onto the conveyor belt. The entire surface of it was covered with multiple produce, dried goods, snacks, and even a pint of ice cream. 

As the cashier began scanning each item, Gilbert started a conversation with the young man. They seemed to be cordial acquaintances with an easy banter. 

"No beers this time Gil?" asked the cashier as he neared the end of the articles.

"Nah, we still have plenty in stock," laughed Gilbert. "Right Bir–"

When the light-haired man turned to his side, Matthew was no longer there. He spun around frantically but the blond was no where to be seen.

"Hey Birdie? Matthew! Matthew where are you?"

"Hey, hey! Lower your voice, I'm right here," mumbled the Canadian, popping up from behind a small fridge at the front of the cashing area. 

"Don't just run off like that, I might actually lose sight of you for good," reproached Gilbert with his hands waving in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I just went to get us some drinks for our way back. I'm getting kind of thirsty. I chose mango iced tea for you, I hope you don't mind."

Both men stared at each other for a second, one slightly irritated while the other had no clue what he had done wrong. With a sigh, the older man pushed the cart to the packaging area and begun filling their shopping bags with their purchases. Matthew placed the two bottles of iced tea on the belt and slid a separator between the association's items and his own, not wanting to add his personal purchase to the B.T.A.'s tab. He then stood next to Gilbert to help him bag their groceries. Once each article was scanned, the light-haired German paid the cashier in cash while Matthew loaded the bags into the cart again. 

Outside, the sun had begun to set. Streetlights flickered on simultaneously, one deviant occasionally lagging behind. The air was warmer outside than in the supermarket, which Gilbert appreciated. Each agent carried at least two shopping bags around their shoulders, staggering through town to get back to the headquarters. 

"Here," said Matthew, handing Gilbert his beverage. 

"Oh right, thanks."

The Canadian was delighted to have something sweet to finally quench his thirst. He had chosen raspberry peach for himself, a new flavor he had never tried before. Its taste was just the right amount of sweetness with soft hints of raspberry and peach. Matthew glanced to his side to watch his shopping companion chug the entire drink in one fell swoop. Their walk was silent, much to the blond's relief. He still had no idea how to behave around the founder, finding him considerate one second then insufferable the next. He wanted to get along with the man, but each time he made conceited comments it reminded Matthew of his lousy military superiors who were terrible people under every circumstance. That made it difficult to trust Gilbert, especially since he so easily switched from one character to the other. 

"Next time warn me when you're gonna go off like that," said Gilbert, thus breaking the silence of the abandoned streets.

"Wh– but I... I was just..." Matthew exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I couldn't wander off on my own apparently."

"No it's not– listen, it's just that with our job, we gotta be careful. And especially you, you newbie who always vanishes so suddenly– you know! I've been trying to keep my eyes on you whenever you enter the room, and I've been really concentrating too, ya know? But somehow, every now and then, you just kind of slip away, almost like you become part of the background. It's unfair actually. I've been practicing so hard too."

Wait, so that's what the staring was all about, thought Matthew. His worries lessened just a little bit knowing this; at least his boss was not a stalker psychopath, he was just stalker idiot. 

"I mean it's great and all that you can get in the enemy's blindside or whatever, but it's just frustrating for your teammates who never see you come in or forget you're, like right there, literally, right in front–" Gilbert was extending his arms in front of him, holding them out like he was carrying a box that he did not know how to set down. He took a deep breath and composed himself. "Anyway, I do think I've made progress. I don't loose sight of you as much."

"Oh," smiled Matthew, not really sure of how else to react. 

"Ugh," Gilbert suddenly groaned. "We should have taken that damn groceries wagon. This shit is heavy."

"We have a wagon?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think we'd need it," mumbled the German founder, lowering his voice as he continued, "plus we look stupid with that thing."

Matthew adjusted the bag strap that was sawing into his shoulder. The bags bounced against his hips at each step he took. He would have really appreciated having that wagon, no matter how stupid they might look.

"Well, next time we won't forget then," said the blond. "But for now, let's make it fun or something."

"Oh? And what do you have in mind?"

"Uh, well... how about we do a series of lunges as we walk, or bicep curls..."

"And the one who collapses first loses! Yes! I'm in!"

Thus, the competition commenced. Their muscles were tired from the day's workout, but neither of them was willing to give up. They persevered with their exercises until they reached the front porch of the little house. Gasping and with heaving chests, they dragged themselves into the narrow kitchen closet, the groceries barely fitting in with them. Soon, they were going down the elevator, out of breath yet nonetheless arguing over who won.

"We arrived at the same time," wheezed Matthew, raising his glasses off his nose. The lenses were fogged up because of his high temperature. He fanned himself with his hand while slumping against the wall.

"Yes but, you were clearly struggling so much more than me," retorted Gilbert as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. "That has to disqualify you."

"Umm, I'm sorry, but were those cries for help not signs of struggle? You literally said 'God, give me strength in my quads' during the lunging phase."

"Pfft yeah maybe, but you were last to reach the porch."

"That's because both of us couldn't fit through the front gate you–" Matthew caught himself before he called his boss a fool, even if it was meant playfully. He cleared his throat and placed his glasses back on his nose. "How about we call it a tie?"

"Ugh, I am so tired of being tied with you," exclaimed Gilbert as he flung himself back against the elevator wall. He rolled his eyes then stuck his hand out. "Fine."

They shook hands to end the competition. The rest of the elevator ride was short but they spent it mocking each other's performances during their race. Their laughter covered the ding of the elevator, neither of them realizing they had arrived. 

As soon as the elevator doors opened, the sound of a panicked voice flooded both men's ears. They stepped out with the grocery bags in their hands, looking across the dimly lit main hall in confusion. 

On the large screen at the end of the room was a Caucasian man being broadcasted to the association. The rest of the team was standing next to Lovino, each member looking up to the display in disquietude. Matthew and Gilbert remained up the stairs, watching from behind their friends. 

"–is going to happen. All I know is that these people, they're planning something bad. I can't do anything about it anymore but you have to–"

Gunshots interrupted the man's agitated speech. Loud banging resonated through each speaker of the hall, resounding deep into Matthew's cells with each pounding. 

The man looked to his side with a frantic gaze. He turned back to the screen while cocking a gun.

"Just get out of there!" shouted Antonio.

"You have to figure out who they’re targeting and stop them before it all blows out of proportion."

"Lev just go–"

The sound of a door crashing erupted from behind the man. He raised his gun and started shooting repeatedly. His body flew back against his chair, laying limp against the armrests.

"Lev!" cried Francis.

More gunshots were heard then the screen cut to black with a static screech saturating the speakers. 

"No!" Ludwig roared as he threw his fists against the desk, knocking over a computer screen. "Scheisse!"

The contents of the grocery bags spilled over the floor as Matthew let go of them. He clutched his chest that was constricting against his lungs. His breaths turned into pants then into coughs. His knees buckled under his weight, throwing him down onto the ground. Matthew could not see nor hear anything except flashes of light with shrill whistling piercing his eardrums. A sense of dread clawed up his spine, burrowed into his skull, and devoured his mind. He was dying, he was sure of it. Even his heart was too tired to continue beating, so it just stopped.


End file.
